As they approached the dike her hasty steps quickened to a run. She darted ahead down to the camp. Thomas Herbert Vincent was vociferating for his dinner. Blake followed at a walk. He was only a father.
When he came down to the trees he found Isobel and Ashton alone. The girl’s manner was constrained and her color higher than usual. Ashton, comfortably outstretched on a blanket with her saddle for pillow, frowned petulantly at the intruder. But Isobel sprang up and came to meet Blake, unable to conceal her relief.
“I was so glad to see Genevieve,” she said. “You came back just in time.” 233
“How’s that?” asked Blake, his eyes twinkling.
She blushed, but quickly recovered from her confusion to dimple and cast a teasing glance at Ashton. “Baby woke up,” she answered. “You may not know it, but babies cry when they fail to get what they want.”
“He’s getting what he wants––I’m not!” complained Ashton.
“I––I must see if Genevieve needs anything,” murmured the girl, and she fled to the tent.
“I need you!” Ashton called after her without avail.
“How’re you feeling?” inquired Blake.
Ashton’s frown deepened to a scowl.