He felt the blood tingle in his cheeks, and a real anger against her rose. Yet he found himself explaining humbly.
"You see, I was taken when I wasn't old enough to decide for myself. I was only a baby. And I was raised to depend upon Elizabeth Cornish. I—I didn't even know the name of my father until a few days ago."
The girl gasped. "You didn't know your father—not your own father?" She laughed again scornfully. "Terry, I ain't green enough to believe that!"
He fell into a dignified silence, and presently the girl leaned closer, as though she were peering to make out his face. Indeed, it was now possible to dimly make out objects in the room. The window was filled with an increasing brightness, and presently a shaft of pale light began to slide across the floor, little by little. The moon had pushed up above the crest of the mountain.
"Did that make you mad?" queried the girl. "Why?"
"You seemed to doubt what I said," he remarked stiffly.
"Why not? You ain't under oath, or anything, are you?"
Then she laughed again. "You're a queer one all the way through. This
Elizabeth Cornish—got anything to do with the Cornish ranch?"
"I presume she owns it, very largely."
The girl nodded. "You talk like a book. You must of studied a terrible pile."