But Bettina was not conscious of how long a time had passed, or that she was causing anxiety.
An unusual experience had come to her, and a most unconventional one.
Standing there at the back of the observation car, she had forgotten Peggy’s suggestion that she return to the rest of the girls. But perhaps she would not have gone in any case, because Bettina was not enjoying their society. She was shy, or perhaps cold. It was difficult to tell which was the influence at work. Nevertheless, she was finding it as much of a trial to be friendly and at ease with her fellow-travelers as she had with her mother’s older and more conventional guests in Washington. But it is possible that Bettina had inherited some of her father’s reserve—the reserve which had made Anthony Graham work and study alone during those many hard years before reaching manhood.
However, to make up for her lack of interest and her uncongeniality with people—as is true with nearly all such persons—Bettina had an unusual fondness for nature.
Now, the landscape of Kansas had not appealed strongly to any one of the other girls. Usually the country was flat and covered with great fields of young corn or wheat, with prosperous farm-houses standing in the background. Yet Bettina saw color and grace in everything.
As the car rushed along, with its rattling and banging, she was trying to recall a line of Kipling’s poetry which described the sound the wind made through the corn.
After Peggy left her, Bettina had caught hold of the wide railing at the end of the car for safety. She was now occupying the entire rear platform of the observation train alone. She was swaying slightly with the movement, with her eyes wide open and her lips slightly parted. Having taken off her hat, the afternoon sunshine made amber lights in her hair as it flickered amid the brown and gold.
Then, suddenly, Bettina became conscious that some one else had come out on the same end of the car with her and was standing near.
It was stupid and self-conscious to flush as she always did in the presence of strangers.
“I hope I do not disturb you,” she then heard a voice say courteously. And, turning her head to reply, Bettina beheld a young man of about twenty. He looked very dark—a Spaniard she believed him for the moment. His eyes were fine and clear, with a faraway look in them; his nose, aquiline; and he held his head back and his chin uplifted.