“Don’t you give that fellow another thought, Fan. He isn’t worth it!”
The girl started like a blooded horse under the whip. She did not pretend to misunderstand.
“I know you never liked him, Jim,” she said after a short silence.
“You bet I didn’t! Forget him, Fan. That’s all I have to say.”
“But—if I only knew what it was—I must have done something—said something— I keep wondering and wondering. I can’t help it, Jim.”
There was an irrepressible sob in the girl’s voice.
“Come, Fan, pull yourself together,” he urged. “Here’s Ellen waiting for us by the gate. Don’t for heaven’s sake give yourself away. Keep a stiff upper lip, old girl!”
“Well, I thought you two were never coming!” Ellen’s full rich voice floated out to them, as they came abreast of the Dix homestead nestled back among tall locust trees.
The girl herself daintily picked her way toward them among the weeds by the roadside. She uttered a little cry of dismay as a stray branch caught in her muslin skirts.
“That’s the sign of a beau, Ellen,” laughed Fanny, with extravagant gayety. “The bigger the stick the handsomer and richer the beau.”