SON OF THE WIND
She smiled, her lips not unclosing, only deepening their curve. Evidently this sort of speech she understood in the spirit in which it was offered, a courtesy and not a compliment. "I hope the rain will hold off while you are here," she said. "The sport is better before it. There's more game in the mountains."
Carron thought that as far as he was concerned. there would be indeed. "Do you hunt?" he inquired.
A faint line gathered between her brows. "Oh, no, I don't, and I don't really know much about what weathers are good for it; only all the men say it's better before wet weather. This morning Beetles started six covey of quail in a mile." She broke a crust of toast and held it up before the anxious eyes of the terrier. "Beetles, little dog, sit up! Sit up for Missus! Beg nicely!"
The sudden change of voice from courtesy to coaxing made Carron open his eyes. Was this she who had awakened him—she of the flying heels? Was this the one who had nestled against his door, who had demanded to know whether he was good-looking? Since she had entered the room she had not given his looks a conscious glance, and yet there was no mistaking the intonation of the voice. "Good Lord!" he thought, with a sort of awe, "are women such children when they are alone?" Nothing child-
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