“Is that why—” she began; and without the slightest reason her heart gave a curious little tremor of disappointment.
“You see,” he said, cheerfully, “it was not impertinence—it was only formality.”
“I see,” she said, approvingly, and began to find him a trifle tiresome.
Meanwhile he had confidently skipped to another subject. “Phosphates and nitrogen are what those people need for their farms. Now if you prepare your soil—do your own mixing, of course—then begin with red clover, and plough—”
Her gray eyes were so wide open that he stopped short to observe them; they were so beautiful that his observation continued until she colored furiously. It was the last straw.
“The fire is out, I think,” she said, calmly, rising to her feet; “my duty here is ended, Mr. Burleson.”
“Oh—are you going?” he asked, with undisguised disappointment. She regarded him in silence for a moment. How astonishingly like that boy he was—this six-foot—
“Of course I am going,” she said, and wondered why she had said “of course” with emphasis. Then she whistled to her mare.
“May I ride with you to the house?” he asked, humbly.
She was going to say several things, all politely refusing. What she did say was, “Not this time.”