"Bless her heart!" reflected Harrington. "Doggone her mischievous little hide!"
With these conflicting observations he dismissed Lahleet Marceau from his mind and, as the rounding of another point of greenery brought the Cub Creek landing into view, his eyes sought eagerly for the shining coupé of Miss Billie Boland. It was not there.
"The gall of me—expecting it!" mumbled Henry to himself, but was disappointed for all that.
