“Of course. It is your last evening.”
“Our last evening,” she repeated, thoughtfully.… “You said …”
“I said that I was going South, too. I am not sure that I am going.”
“I am sorry,” she observed, coolly. And after a moment she handed him the bridle of her mare, saying, “You will see that she is forwarded when your friend asks for her?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the mare, then walked up slowly and put her arms around the creature’s silky neck. “Good-bye,” she said, and kissed her. Turning half defiantly on Burleson, she smiled, touching her wet lashes with her gloved wrist.
“The Arab lady and the faithful gee-gee,” she said. “I know The Witch doesn’t care, but I can’t help loving her.… Are you properly impressed with my grief?”
There was that in Burleson’s eyes that sobered her; she instinctively laid her hand on the gate, looking at him with a face which had suddenly grown colorless and expressionless.
“Miss Elliott,” he said, “will you marry me?”
The tingling silence lengthened, broken at intervals by the dull stamping of the horses.