"Answer me," she cried. "Is she there?"
"If by 'she,'" answered the other, "you mean Miss Fuller?"
"Yes, yes, I mean her."
"Then she is," said Texas, defiantly.
He said that with a dogged, none-of-your-business sort of an air, though rather sheepishly for all that. The girl stared at him for a moment, and then to Texas' indescribable consternation and bewilderment, she buried her head in her hands and burst into a passionate flood of tears.
"My Lord!" gasped the astounded plebe.
Poor Texas wasn't used to girls; the only things he knew of that cried were babies, and a baby he would have taken in his arms and rocked until it stopped. But he had an instinctive impression that that wouldn't do in this case. Beyond that he was at a loss.
"Bless my soul, Miss Adams!" he cried—no exclamation seemed to do quite so well as Indian's in that case. "Please don't do that! What on earth's the matter?"
Texas had a vague idea that some one might come that way any moment; and he wondered what that person would think to look at them. Texas just then wished himself anywhere on earth but there.
In response to his embarrassed pleading, the girl finally looked through her tears. And her eyes, red with weeping, gave her beautiful face a look of anguish that touched the Texan's big heart.