The next day, when she stealthily slipped out of her French window, she found Calvin Gray idly rocking on the veranda. He welcomed her appearance and pretended not to see her embarrassment at the meeting; he was glad of this chance for a visit with her alone. Perhaps she was going for a walk and would take him along?
Ma was annoyed and suspicious. She liked Gray, but—she was as wary as a trout and she refused to be baited. She would allow him to walk with her—but lead him to the retreat? Well, hardly.
The man was piqued, for suspicion irked him. It was a tribute to his patience and to his knack of inspiring confidence that Ma finally told him about Allie's criticism and her resentment thereat.
"I got my own way of enjoyin' myself, an' I don't care what people think," she declared, with some heat.
"Quite right. It's none of their darned business, Ma."
"She thinks I'm kind of crazy an'—I guess I am. But it comes from livin' so long in the heat an' the drought an' allus wantin' things I couldn't have—allus bein' sort of thirsty in the head. When you want things all your life an' never have 'em, you get so you play you've got 'em."
The man nodded. "You had a hard time. Your life was starved. I'm so glad the money came in time."
"You see, I never had time to play, or a good place to play in, even when I was a little girl. But this is like—like books I've read."
"Are these mountains what you thought they would be?"
"Oh, they're better!" Ma breathed. "It's too bad Allie's got to spoil ever'thing."