"I wish to God I had." The sudden words frightened her. She showed
her displeasure in half turning away, then she resolutely faced him.
"I am not going to quarrel with you even if you make fun of me----"
"Fun of you?"
"Even if you put an unfair sense on what I say."
"I meant what I said in every sense, either to take the pain or--the
other. I couldn't make fun of you. Do you never make fun of me, Miss
Brock?"
"No, Mr. Glover, I do not. If you would be sensible we should do very
well. You have been so kind, and we are to leave the mountains so
soon, we ought to be good friends."
"Will you tell me one thing, Miss Brock--are you engaged?"
"I don't think you should ask, Mr. Glover. But I am not
engaged--unless that in a sense I am," she added, doubtfully.
"What sense, please?"
"That I have given no answer. Are you still complaining of the cold,
Aunt Jane?" she cried, in desperation, turning toward Mrs. Whitney. "I
find it quite warm over here. Mr. Glover and I are still watching the
freight train. Come over, do."
Going back, Glover rode near to Gertrude, who had grown restless and
imperious. To hunt this queer mountain-lion was recreation, but to
have the mountain-lion hunt her was disquieting.
She complained again of her wounded hand, but refused all suggestions,
and gave him no credit for riding between her and the thorny trees
through the cañon. It was midnight when the party reached the hotel,
and when Gertrude stepped across the parlor to the water-pitcher,
Glover followed. "I must thank you for your thoughtfulness of my
little sister to-night," she was saying.
He was so intent that he forgot to reply.
"May I ask one question?" he said.
"That depends."
"When you make answer may I know what it is?"
"Indeed you may not."