"
He was hardly prepared for the tide of color that swept her
cheeks at his words nor for the momentary confusion that
shuttered the shy eyes with long lashes cast down.
"Sick folks do talk foolishness, they say," he added, his gaze
trained on her suspiciously.
"Do they?"
"Mrs. Winslow says I did. But when I asked her what it was I said
she only laughed and told me to ask y'u. Well, I'm askin' now."
She became very busy over the teapot. "You talked about the work
at your ranch--sheep dipping and such things."
"Was that all?"
"No, about lots of other things--football and your early life. I
don't see what Mrs. Winslow meant. Will you have some more tea?"
"No, thank y'u. I have finished. Yes, that ce'tainly seems
harmless. I didn't know but I had been telling secrets." Still
his unwavering eyes rested quietly on her.
"Secrets?" She summoned her aplomb to let a question rest lightly
in the face she turned toward him, though she was afraid she met
his eyes hardly long enough for complete innocence "Why, yes,
secrets." He measured looks with her deliberately before he
changed the subject, and he knew again the delightful excitement
of victory. "Are y'u going to read to me this evening?"
She took his opening so eagerly that he smiled, at which her
color mounted again.
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