“Gratitude is one of the rare virtues, Mr. Dalton,” said Adelina, hardly looking his way. “I can understand Paul’s pre-occupation. But really, Paul, can’t you postpone some of this business for a day at least?”
“Awfully sorry, Adelina. As a matter of fact, I am getting ready for a trip to the north to see my brother and sister.”
“Your brother and sister? Oh, yes, of course. And where are they?”
“Up at Fort Reliance at a mission school. I may bring them back with me.”
“Bring them back?” she said, astonished. “What can you do with them here? But that’s none of my business,” she added hurriedly. “You can’t give me—you can’t take this one day off?” She turned her horse about so as to hide her face from Dalton, who moved away to admire the view of the valley, and bent slightly over her saddle toward him.
Paul came over to her and, with his hand on her horse’s neck, looked steadily into her eyes. “It is awfully good of you, Adelina,” he said, “but I don’t believe I ought. You know—you see——”
“Ought!” said the girl, and for her life she could not quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I know when you put that horrid word in that there is an end to all persuasion. I suppose you know Peg is home,” she added, her eyes holding his as she waited for what she expected and dreaded to see in them. Her expectation and her dread were not disappointed, for quickly though Paul turned his head he was not quick enough to hide the leap of light into his eyes, nor with all his steadiness of control could he prevent the swift grip of his fingers in her horse’s mane. She sat back straight in her saddle.
“Peg? Home? I thought she—I thought they were still in England,” he said in a low tone.
“You will hardly pass through the valley without seeing her, Paul,” said Adelina, smiling down at him uncertainly.
“No, I would not do that. I must see them.”