“You can have this,” she said. “It’s Ike’s, but he don’t count.”
Steve pushed open a side-door with his elbow.
“It’s hot ’nuff out here,” he said. “No—there ain’t any dew on the grass. Come down ter the gate, Maiden.”
Maiden stepped beside him, holding her muslin dress daintily. The rollicking music behind unsteadied Steve’s nerves. There was a lilt of defiance in it that brought Lou’s laughter very near. He gripped his hand on the gate.
“Are yer thinkin’ o’ marryin’ Lou?” he demanded suddenly.
Maiden brushed a twig from her skirt.
“You said you wanted to tell me something,” she suggested. “Don’t yer think yer ideas is a bit upside down, Steve?”
“I’d ruther not tell yer till I knows that.”
“Well,” said Maiden, lightly, “you’re not goin’ to know that. Anything else?”
“If yer sends me ter him. Maiden———”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll git the truth outen him.” Steve’s voice had a rasp in it now.
“And what good will that do you?”
The distant curve of tussock hills against the stars blurred in Steve’s sight.
“D’yer think I’m carin’ fur myself?” he said fiercely. “If Lou were another man I’d say nothin’. But him bein’ what he is— Maiden!
