“Our families are old friends, you know.”
“Yes, I know it.”
“And then, tell me—” She paused. “Honestly!”
“Why—yes.”
“I’ve been honest and told you—I’m not really worried about my horse. Now you be honest and say why you rode out this morning.”
He waited before replying, studying her face—not boldly, but gravely. “I think, Miss Castleman, that it would be better if I did not.”
Then it was Sylvia’s turn to study. Was it a rebuke? Had he not come out on her account at all? Or was it still the ghost of his father’s prison-suit?
He did not help her with another word. (I can hear Frank’s laugh as he told me about this episode. “We silent fellows have such an advantage! We just wait and let people imagine things!”)
Sylvia’s voice fell low. “Mr. Shirley, you have me at a great disadvantage.” And as she said this she gazed at him with the wonderful red-brown eyes, wide open, childlike. So far there had never been a man who could resist the spell of those eyes. Would this man be able? The busy little brain behind them was watching every sign.
“I don’t understand,” he replied; and she took up the words: