Maiden’s laugh lilted after him.
“You’ll be sorry you promised me that, Ted Douglas,” she called.
The burring of stones under quicker, heavier feet broke up the silence that hung with the long twilight of the south over rounded hills and gold-washed high road. Steve’s voice came in her ear, diffidently:
“Cud—cud I be walkin’ beside yer, Maiden?”
Maiden’s eyes dropped swiftly. There was coquetry in them too subtle for Steve to see.
“The road’s more’n a chain wide, isn’t it? I think as there might be room for two beside me, Steve.”
“That depends on how close yer let me come, Maiden.”
Maiden laughed. For a masterful note was in the words suddenly.
Then she gave him permission to walk in the wheel-rut which his own drays had scored five inches deep; and she took the crown of the road, stepping daintily, with the quick step that Steve rejoiced to watch.
“I’m glad ter see as yer ain’t got on that Army rig ter-night,” he ventured presently, with his eyes approving the slim length of the print-frocked figure.
“There’s some folks as is glad to see me in any dress,” remarked Maiden.
“Oh! so’m I, o’ course———”
