Roberts turned a switch and the last faint purr ceased.
“I imagined, almost, you’d be afraid,” he said evenly.
“I was—horribly,” simply.
“You were; and still—I won’t do it again, Elice.”
Without a word the girl stepped to the ground. In equal silence the man followed. Taking off the long khaki coat he spread it on the ground amid the shadow and indicated his handiwork with a nod. For a half-minute perhaps he himself remained standing, however, his great shoulders squared, his big fingers twitching unconsciously. Recollecting, he dropped on the grass beside her.
“Pardon me, Elice,” he apologized bluntly, “for frightening you.” He smiled, the infrequent, 228 tolerant, self-analytic smile. “I somehow couldn’t help doing what I did. I knew it would break out sometime soon. I couldn’t help it.”
For a moment the girl inspected him, her head, just lifted, resting on her locked arms, her eyelids half closed.
“You knew—what? Something’s happened I know; something unusual, very. I never saw you before as you are to-day. I’d almost say you had nerves. Do you care to tell me?”
Roberts was still smiling.
“Do you care to have me tell you?” he countered.