“Oh damnation! Confound it! Well, what else did she say?”
“She say ———”
“Go on, Lee. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to blame you for what she said.”
“She say you the meanest man she ever know. She tell me tell you that.”
Dane laughed suddenly. “She did, did she? Good for her. Which way did she go?”
“Along the road, that way,” he pointed.
“All right, thanks, Lee.”
The boy glided into the house.
Dane lay indecisively for a few minutes. Then with a wriggle of impatience he dragged himself out of the hammock, slouched off the verandah waving back his dogs, and went round the house and down his grass-grown drive to the road. He went on past his boundary expecting that Valerie would have turned in at the next attractive point on the river. He explored it, but found no trace of her. He stood where there was a long stretch of road visible but she was nowhere to be seen. He walked another quarter of a mile, and finding no sign of her he turned crossly back, angry at her now for disturbing his morning.
At nine that night, intent on her books in the silent office, Valerie heard steps pause on the clay sidewalk outside. Then she heard the door open without a knock. She wondered if Bob had got back sooner than he expected. She swung round in her chair to see Dane Barrington moving round the corner of the counter. He was without a hat and as she looked up at him her eyes were arrested by the glitter of the gaslight for a second on the eyes of a green snake curved over the top of a black stick he carried. She almost thought the thing alive.
He stood easily before her for a little before he spoke.
