"Why should I not have, in a place like this?" she said. "If the schemers arrive by twos, why not two of my modest craft? We shall leave it as we find it; we don't intend to carry it away in our pockets." She stopped, and blushed disdainfully. "I forgot," she murmured, "my own mercenary designs."
"I have not heard of these mercenary designs of yours. What are they, may I ask?" Harshaw had turned on his side on the grass, and half rose on one elbow as he looked at her.
"That is strange," mocked Kitty, with supreme coldness. "You have always been so interested in my affairs!"
"I always shall be," he replied seriously, with supreme gentleness.
"I ought to be so grateful."
"But unfortunately you are not."
"I should be grateful—if you would move a little farther to the right, if you please. That young person in the pink sunbonnet is coming down to water her horses again."
Harshaw calmly took himself out of her way altogether, lighted his pipe, and went down close to the water, and sat there on a stone, and presently, as we could hear, entered into easy conversation with the pink sunbonnet, the face of which leaned toward him over the pony's neck as he stooped to drink. The splashed waters became still, and softly the whole picture—pink sunbonnet, clay-bank pony, pale and shivery willows, and deep blue sky—developed on the negative of the clear lagoon.
There was no use in saying how pretty it was, so we resorted to the other note, of disparagement. I remarked that I should not think a pink sunbonnet would be ravishingly becoming to the average Snake River complexion, as I had seen it.
"That sunbonnet is becoming, you bet!" Tom remarked. "Wait till you see the face inside it."