"A-huh! Thet's too bad. An' how did he?"
"He—he—" Lucy seemed to catch her tongue.
Bostil was positive she had meant to tell him something and suddenly changed her mind. Subtly the child vanished—a woman remained. Lucy sat up self-possessed once more. Some powerfully impelling thought had transformed her. Bostil's keen sense gathered that what she would not tell was not hers to reveal. For herself, she was the soul of simplicity and frankness.
"Days ago I told him I cared for him," she went on. "But I forbade him to speak of it to me. He promised. I wanted to wait till after the race—till after I had found courage to confess to you. He broke his word.... Today when he put me up on Wildfire he—he suddenly lost his head."
The slow scarlet welled into Lucy's face and her eyes grew shamed, but bravely she kept facing her father.
"He—he pulled me off—he hugged me—he k-kissed me.... Oh, it was dreadful—shameful! ... Then I gave him back—some—something he had given me. And I told him I—I hated him—and I told him, 'No!'"
"But you rode his hoss in the race," said Bostil.
Lucy bowed her head at that. "I—I couldn't resist!"
Bostil stroked the bright head. What a quandary for a thick-skulled old horseman! "Wal, it seems to me Slone didn't act so bad, considerin'. You'd told him you cared for him. If it wasn't for thet! ... I remember I did much the same to your mother. She raised the devil, but I never seen as she cared any less for me."
"I'll never forgive him," Lucy cried, passionately. "I hate him. A man who breaks his word in one thing will do it in another."