Phyllis had declined to dance with him, giving as an excuse a full programme, and for an instant his face had blazed with the suppressed rage in him. He had bowed and swaggered away with a malicious sneer. Her judgment told her it was folly to connect this man with the absence of her lover, but that look of malevolent triumph had none the less shaken her heart. What had he meant? It seemed less a threat for the future than a gloating over some evil already done.
When she could endure them no longer she carried her fears to Jim Yeager. They were dancing, but she made an excuse of fatigue to drop out.
"First time I ever knew you to play out at a dance, Phyl," he rallied her.
"It isn't that. I want to say something to you," she whispered.
He had a guess what it was, for his own mind was not quite easy.
"Do you think anything could have happened, Jim?" she besought pitifully when for a moment they were alone in a corner.
"What could have happened, Phyllie? Do you reckon he fell off his hawss, and him a full-size man?" he scoffed.
"Yes, but—you don't know how Brill looked at me. I'm afraid."
"Oh, Brill!" His voice held an edge of scorn, but none the less it concealed a real fear. He was making as much concession to it as to her when he added lightly: "Tell you what I'll do, Phyl. I'll saddle up and take a look back over the Bear Creek trail. Likely I'll meet him, and we'll come in together."
Her eyes met his, and he needed no other thanks. "You'll lose the dance," was her only comment.