“Of course you should. Mr. Transley would not have waited to be told. Dad thinks that anything that’s worth having in this world is worth going after, and going after hard. I guess I’m Dad’s daughter in more ways than one.”
“I suppose he’s right,” Linder confessed, “but I’ve always been shy. I get along all right with men.”
“The truth is, Mr Linder, you’re not shy—you’re frightened. Now I can well believe that no man could frighten you. Consequently you get along all right with men. Do I need to tell you the rest?”
“I never thought of myself as being afraid of women,” he replied. “It has always seemed that they were, well, just out of my line.”
They had reached the tent but the girl made no sign of going in. In the silence the sibilant lisp of the stream rose loud about them.
“Mr. Linder,” she said at length, “do you know why Mr. Transley sent you down here with me?”
“I’m sure I don’t, except to show you to your tent.”
“That was the least of his purposes. He wanted to show you that he wasn’t afraid of you; and he wanted to show me that he wasn’t afraid of you. Mr. Transley is a very self-confident individual. There is such a thing as being too self-confident, Mr. Linder, just as there is such a thing as being too shy. Do you get me? Good night!” And with a little rush she was in her tent.
Linder walked slowly down to the water’s edge, and stood there, thinking, until her light went out. His brain was in a whirl with a sensation entirely strange to it. A light wind, laden with snow-smell from the mountains, pressed gently against his features, and presently Linder took deeper breaths than he had ever known before.
“By Jove!” he said. “Who’d have thought it possible?”