He sat down in one of the easy chairs opposite and, leaning his head back against the leopard skin, watched her with a lively and all-absorbing interest. Her complete self-possession and confidence, and the unconventional manner in which she proceeded to make herself entirely at home in the detachment, amused and astounded him. He remembered the impulsive, winning way that she had come over and spoken to him on the occasion of their first meeting. She was a new type to him and he realized that she was quite out of the ordinary.
She was not “mannish,” but there seemed to be a good deal of the irresponsible boy, as it were, left in her. She couldn’t be a strolling ex-actress, he reflected. The utter absence of coquetry, the fresh, healthy, open-air look of her, and the mention that she had made of the position she occupied at the Trainors’ immediately dispelled that idea. And besides, Dave Trainor’s wife was a lady-like, nice woman and—particular. He was a frequent and welcome caller at their ranch—knew them intimately.
No, she was all right. Just a big, simple, jolly girl, well bred and educated; brought up, perhaps, amongst a host of brothers and their friends so, therefore, accustomed to masculine society, and most likely preferring it to her own sex. Mixing with them in their out-door sports—clean minded, healthy specimens like herself—daring, high spirited and impulsive, without being brazen and bold—funny, without being vulgar. Her manner, and clear, frank, honest eyes showed him that. Used to being teased and welcomed everywhere—clever, mirth loving, independent, self-reliant, kind and brave.
It was thus that he mentally diagnosed the character of his fair guest. He was no vain, smirking Lothario, but he instinctively guessed how that strong mouth of hers could set, and those hazel eyes blaze and scintillate with dangerous anger at times; and that the man who was ill-advised and—ignorant enough—to ever make the foolish break of misconstruing her careless geniality for anything else but that, was only inviting disaster of the most ignominious and humiliating kind.
Her gaze flitted around the room continually as she appeased her appetite, and he was subjected to an exacting and minute inquisition anent the duties and life of a Mounted Policeman.
“And do they supply your detachments with pianos, too?” she inquired ingenuously. “Now, you needn’t laugh. I believe you’ve only been telling me a lot of nonsense. ‘I was a stranger, so you took me in.’ It’s too bad of you.”
“Honor bright, I haven’t,” he protested, with a grin. “I’ve told you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Pianos! Oh, my long-suffering Force. No, we get a pretty good outfit, but the Government don’t extend their generosity quite that far. This musical box belongs to the Honorable Percy Lake. He’s a rich Englishman who plays at ‘rawnching’ here—a ‘jolly boy,’ as we call ’em. His place is about five miles due west from here; it’s fitted up like a Fifth Avenue mansion. Oh, he’s no end of a swell. But it’s caddish of me to make fun of him, for he’s an awfully decent chap at heart, in spite of his lazy, fastidious ways, and a man—every bit of him. He’s away in California just now. He and his wife always flit South with the geese before the winter sets in, but they should be back any old time now. He was scared the punchers would ruin this piano if it was left to their tender mercies. It’s a pretty good one, I believe—a Broadwood. Had it shipped out from the Old Country and, as he knows I’m fond of music, he insisted on carting it over here. Kind enough, but whatever I’d do with it if I was transferred suddenly anywhere else, I don’t know. It’ll be a relief, in a way, when he redeems it.”
He got up and poured her some more coffee, remarking a little anxiously:
“I suppose the Trainors will be having a search party out for you, thinking something’s happened. Shouldn’t wonder but what Dave’s on his way down here right now to notify me.”
“Oh, no; don’t you worry,” she said reassuringly. “I told them I might stay at the Goddard’s place for the night. I would have done so, only I found little Willy Goddard was sickening for measles and I didn’t want to take chances in my capacity of governess of probably passing it on to the Trainors’ children—Bert and Gwyn. Not that I’m scared for myself—I’ve had it, years and years ago. Oh, the Trainors know I’m jolly well able to take care of my little self,” she added, with a slight suggestion of defiant challenge in her tones and look which stirred the fiery Benton blood in his veins strangely.