"You thought you were clever, I suppose," he said in a growl-like tone that certainly fitted his face. "What are you doing here, I'd like to know?"
"Tottering angels!" said Van, "didn't that experience do you any good after all? No wonder the convicts wouldn't have you!"
Beth was afraid for what Bostwick might have heard. She could not censure Van for what he had done; she saw he would make no explanations. At best she could only attempt to put some appearance of the commonplace upon the horseman's visit.
"Mr. Van Buren came—to see Mrs. Dick," she faltered, steadying her voice as best she might. "They're—very old friends."
"What's that?" demanded Bostwick, coming into the room and pointing at the bright nugget pin, lying exposed upon the table. "Some present, I suppose, for Mrs. Dick?" He started to take it in his hand.
Van interposed. "It's neither for Mrs. Dick nor for you. It's a present I've made to Miss Kent."
Bostwick elevated his brows.
"Indeed?"
Beth fluttered in with a word of defense.
"It's just a little souvenir—that's all—a souvenir of—of my escape from those terrible men."