“And the children, too. By the way, what are their names?”
“You’re getting up a right smart interest in my family, all of a sudden,” he countered.
“One can’t talk about the weather all the time.”
He boldly decided to slay the illusion of domesticity. “If you want to know, I have neither wife nor children.”
“But I’ve heard about them all,” she retorted.
“You have heard of Mrs. O’Connor, no doubt; 246 but she happens to be the wife of a cousin of mine.”
The look which she flashed at him held more than doubt.
“You don’t believe me?” he continued. “I give you my word that I’m not married.”
They had left the road, and were following a short cut which wound down toward Tonti, in and out among the great boulders. The town, dwarfed to microscopic size by distance, looked, in the glare of the sunlight, as if it were made of white chalk. Along the narrow trail they went singly, Melissy leading the way.
She made no answer, but at the first opportunity he forced his horse to a level with hers.