The girl's breath came more quickly, but she persisted in her banter. "I can scarcely wait!"
The line of the youth's big jaw tightened, "I won't keep you in suspense any longer then. First of all, I want to relate a little personal history. I was eight years old, as you know, when I was taken into the Box R ranch. In those eight years, as far as I can remember, not one person except Mr. Rankin ever called at my mother's home."
Again the girl felt a thrill of anticipation, but the brown eyes opened archly. "You must have kept a big fierce dog, or—or something."
"No, that was not the reason."
"I can't imagine what it could be, then."
"The explanation is simple. My mother and Tom Blair were never married."
Swiftly the color mounted into Florence's cheeks, and she drew up her horse with a jerk.
"So that is what you brought me out here to tell me!" she blazed.
Ben drew up likewise, and wheeled his pony facing hers.
"I beg your pardon, but I'm not to blame for the way I told you—of myself. You forced it. For once in my life at least, Florence, I'm in dead earnest to-day."