“You are not going—”
“No. The bump on my head must have settled my brain. As soon as I came to I saw how crazy it would be. That is why I don’t want to go on West.”
“I see. For fear of his overbearing you.”
“Yes. Though I don’t think he could now. I think I’m over it. Poor old Del! He’s had a narrow escape from losing me. I hope he never hears of it. Placid though he is, that might stir him up.”
“Then you’ll go back to him?”
The girl sighed. “I suppose so. How can I tell? I’m only twenty, and it seems to me that somebody has been trying to marry me ever since I stopped petting my dolls. I’m tired of men, men, men! That’s why I want to live alone and quiet for a while in the station-agent’s shack.”
“Then you don’t consider Mr. Banneker as belonging to the tribe of men?”
“He’s an official. I could always see his uniform, at need.” She fell into thought. “It’s a curious thing,” she mused.
Miss Van Arsdale said nothing.
“This queer young cub of a station-agent of yours is strangely like Carter Holmesley, not as much in looks as in—well—atmosphere. Only, he’s ever so much better-looking.”