And thanks, and ever thanks.’”
The dimples broke into her cheeks as her smile flashed out in the pleasure of having broken the crust of his reserve.
“That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it? I’m dreadfully illiterate, but it sounds like him.”
“It does a little, doesn’t it?” He raised the glass before drinking. “Happy days, Miss Reed.”
“That goes double,” she said quickly.
The sardonic mask, that had for a moment been lifted, dropped again over his face. “Many more like this one,” he fleered.
“You may look back on it and find it a good day yet,” she said bravely.
He handed back the empty tumbler. “Afraid I’m not an optimist. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going. The ranch might change its mind about that hanging bee.”
“But I do mind,” she protested. “I don’t want you to go yet. Please stay and meet my father. He’s not really hard and cruel as you think.”
Again she saw on his lips the dry, bitter smile.