Ben did not even glance at her. He was looking at the dainty little figure still motionless at the table.
"If that is the mark of a gentleman, I am not one," he answered.
The mother's face flamed. Like Scotty, her brain moved slowly, and on the spur of the moment inadequate insult alone answered her call.
"I might have expected such a remark from a cowman!" she burst forth.
Instantly Florence was upon her feet; but Ben Blair gave no indication that he had heard. His arms still folded, he took two steps nearer the girl, then stopped.
"Florence," he said steadily, "I have just seen your father. We three—he, you, and I—are going back home, back to the prairies. Our train leaves at eleven o'clock. The carriage will be here in half an hour. You have plenty of time if you hurry."
Again there was silence. Once more it was the mother who spoke first.
"You must be mad, both of you!" she cried. "Florence is to be married in three days, and it would take two to go each way. You must be mad!"
It was the girl's turn to grow pale. She began to understand.
"You say you and papa evolved this programme?" she said sarcastically. "What part, pray, did he take?"