Part 14 (2/2)
Haig laughed.
”Oh, I think not!”
”But what is the use?”
”What's the use of anything?”
”But it's--”
”Mere folly, you think?”
”Yes.”
”Now you don't mean that at all, Miss g.a.y.l.o.r.d. You know perfectly well that if I were doing it to please you--to win your admiration--you wouldn't call it folly.”
”You will please me--and win my admiration--if you don't do it.
Please!”
”But I don't want--You'll pardon me?--I don't want to win your admiration.”
What could she say to that? There was a moment of silence.
”When?” she asked quietly.
”I'm waiting for Farrish, my foreman. He's the only man I can absolutely depend upon. He's in Omaha. He'll be back next week.”
”And you won't begin without him?”
”No.”
She had no choice but to be satisfied with a few days of grace.
Moreover, something might happen before the return of Farrish; the outlaw might escape, or she might find another opportunity to plead with Haig, or--What was she thinking of? Something was going to happen that very evening; and she had almost forgotten it, in her absorption!
She had meant to do, long before now, what he had prevented her doing at the stable,--to confess her deception, to plead for mercy, to beg him to go back. Failing in that, there was Tuesday trotting behind the trap; she could leap out, prove to Haig that her foot was uninjured, and insist upon riding home alone. But now the confession seemed ten times more difficult than it had seemed in the first flush of her resolution. They were far up the Bright.w.a.ter by this time; a few minutes more would bring them to the branch road that led to Huntington's. Yet how could she tell him?
”My foot doesn't hurt any more,” she began, compromising with her resolution.
”That's because you've been sitting still,” he replied.
”But it doesn't hurt when I move it. See!”
She lifted the foot, and rested it on the dashboard, bending and twisting it.
”By which you mean to tell me that I am to go back,” he said.
”Please!”
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