Margaret reddened as she realized, from Kitty’s evident embarrassment, that she had impulsively broken in upon a conference of two.
“I must tell your father about it,” she said hurriedly, and before Yates could open the door she had done so for herself. Again she was taken aback to see so many sitting round the table.
There was a moment’s silence between the two in the kitchen, but the spell was broken.
“I—I don’t suppose there will be any trouble about getting back the horses,” said Yates hesitatingly. “If you lose them, the Government will have to pay.”
“I presume so,” answered Kitty coldly; then: “Excuse me, Mr. Yates; I mustn’t stay here any longer.” So saying, she followed Margaret into the other room.
Yates drew a long breath of relief. All his old difficulties of preference had arisen when the outer door burst open. He felt that he had had a narrow escape, and began to wonder if he had really committed himself. Then the fear swept over him that Margaret might have noticed her friend’s evident confusion, and surmised its cause. He wondered whether this would help him or hurt him with Margaret, if he finally made up his mind to favor her with his serious attentions. Still, he reflected that, after all, they were both country girls, and would no doubt be only too eager to accept a chance to live in New York. Thus his mind gradually resumed its normal state of self-confidence; and he argued that, whatever Margaret’s suspicions were, they could not but make him more precious in her eyes. He knew of instances where the very danger of losing a man had turned a woman’s wavering mind entirely in the man’s favor. When he had reached this point, the door from the dining room opened, and Stoliker appeared.
“We are waiting for you,” said the constable.
“All right. I am ready.”
As he entered the room he saw the two girls standing together talking earnestly.
“I wish I was a constable for twenty-four hours,” cried Mrs. Bartlett. “I would be hunting horse thieves instead of handcuffing innocent men.”