“Is it?” he said. Then, as he came to a halt, “Say, I’ve been chasing the village through half the day to find you, Kate. Then Peter led me here, and I remembered it was Saturday. I guessed I’d have a surprise on you, and I thought I’d succeeded. But you don’t ‘surprise’ worth a cent. Say, I’m to remain here till—after Monday.”
Kate slowly rose to her feet. She was clad in a white shirtwaist and old tailored skirt. She made a perfect figure of robust health and vigorous purpose. Her eyes, too, were shining, and full of those subtle depths of fire which held the man enthralled.
“Monday?” she said. Then in a curiously reflective way she repeated the word, “Monday.”
Fyles waited, and, in a moment, Kate’s thought seemed to pass. She looked fearlessly up into the man’s eyes, but there was no smile in response to his.
“I’m—going away until after—Monday,” she said.
“Going away?”
The man’s disappointment was too evident to be mistaken. “Why?” he asked, after a moment’s pause.
Quite suddenly the woman flung her arms out in a gesture of helplessness, which somehow did not seem to fit her.
“I can’t—bear the strain of waiting here,” she said, with an impatient shrug. “It’s—it’s on my nerves.”
The man began to smile again. “A wager like ours takes nerve to make, but a bigger nerve to carry through. Still, say, I can’t see how running from it’s going to help any. You’ll still be thinking. Thoughts take a heap of getting clear of. Best stop around. It’ll be exciting—some. I’m going to win out,” he went on, with confidence, “and I guess it’ll be a game worth watching, even if you—lose.”