SON OF THE WIND
chanted back at him as she flitted. She went off in the direction of the house buoyantly, as though the prospect of an evening of whist, far from tiring her, had abated her weariness.
But Carron felt by no means contented. He had the uneasy feeling of having wasted his time. Not that his afternoon's work had interfered with anything definite he could have done in his own affair, but that the impetus he had had for following his discovery of the morning seemed to have been halted. He had not had his own thoughts to himself. He feared he could scarcely have them to himself this evening. She had a way of absorbing a man—no, of making him be absorbed. If he had had his wits about him he would have protested that he would appear only if he could be the idle member of the company. Then he could have watched Ferrier without being himself watched. He could have got a perspective on him. But the girl's plea to him had been put so prettily! He had been flattered into making that stipulation, about their being partners.
Now the suspicion pulled him that she had managed this deliberately. Probably she wanted some one to play off against Ferrier. She had seemed to care not a pin for the fellow. The one time he had seen them together she had seemed fairly to dislike
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