“Jeff Wade!” she gasped. “Jeff Wade!—have you—did you—”
“Oh, I see!” he laughed, awkwardly. “I might have known you would hear about that. But never mind, little girl, the whole of it was gossip—there was nothing in it!”
“You mean—oh, Nelson, you say that you and he did not—”
“Not a bit of it,” he laughed again, mechanically. “Everybody in town this morning was declaring that Jeff Wade was going to kill me on sight, but it wasn't true. I haven't seen him to-day.”
“Oh, Nelson, I heard that he'd actually killed you.”
“Killed me? Oh, that's a good joke!” he laughed. “But you must promise me never again to pay any attention to such stuff. The idea! Why, Cynthia, don't you know better than to believe everything that comes by word of mouth in this section? I'll bet somebody started that who really wanted me out of the way. I've got enemies, I know that.” She drew herself still farther from him, eying him half suspiciously through the darkness. Her lips were parted; she was getting her breath rapidly, like a feverish child.
“But he was mad at you, I know that. You need not tell me an untruth.”
“A man is almost justifiable,” he laughed, “when he wants to keep such dirty stuff from young, refined ears like yours. Let's not talk of it any more, little girl. Why spoil this delightful meeting with thoughts of such things? You have no idea how much I've wanted to see you.”
“Then”—she put out her cold hand to the latticework and drew herself up—“why did you whistle for me? You said you'd—you'd call me if you—you really needed me badly.”
“Well, that's what I did to-night, I assure you,” he laughed. “I felt like I just had to see you and talk with you. You see, I knew this thing would finally get to you, and that you would worry and perhaps lose sleep over it. I knew when you saw me with a whole skin and solid bones that you'd—”