She looked attentively at his sad, haggard face, then took off her bonnet and fanned herself.
"Are you mad at me, Eph'um?"
"No; I ain't mad now, Armindy."
"Then what makes you look so—so strange?"
"I was mad last night."
She turned the cool loam of the freshly opened furrow over her naked feet, a faint smile lurking in the corners of her mouth. He saw it, but did not feel angry.
"Good-by, Armindy," he said gently.
"I didn't mean anythin' last night, Eph'um," she said hastily, sobered again by the gravity of his voice and manner.
"I know how it was."
"I don't believe you do. I—" But he rode away while the defensive little speech remained unfinished on her lips.