“I am,” she replied.
“But you can’t––you must not. He’s the very devil for doing impossible things. He’ll be sure to turn loose a flood on you––drown you out––destroy your range!”
“If it can be done, the sooner we know it the better,” she argued. “Daddy says little, but it is becoming a monomania with him––the dread. I wish to put an end to his suspense. Besides, if––if this Mr. Blake is as remarkable as you and the reports say he is, it will be interesting to meet him. My only fear is that so great an engineer will not think it worth while to come to this out-of-the-way section.”
“The big four-flusher!” muttered Ashton.
“How you must dislike him! It makes me all the more curious to see him.”
“Does your father know about this letter?” queried Ashton.
“You forget yourself, sir,” she said.
Meeting her level gaze, he flushed crimson with mortification. He stood biting his lip, unable to speak.
She went on coldly: “I do not ask you to tell me the cause of your hatred for Mr. Blake. I assume 85 that you are a gentleman and will not destroy my letter. But even if you should do so, it would mean only a short delay. I shall write him again if I receive no reply to this.”
Ashton’s flush deepened. “I did not think you could be so hard. But––I presume I deserved it.”