Josephine stared blankly at the brown slope before them. Her lips were
set firmly together, and her brows were contracted also, and her gloved
fingers gripped the reins tightly. She paid not the slightest attention
to Ford's hand upon her saddle horn, nor at the steady gaze of his eyes.
Later, when Ford observed the rigidity of her whole pose and sensed that
mental withdrawing which needs no speech to push one off from the more
intimate ground of companionship, he wondered a little. Without in the
least knowing why he felt rebuffed, he took away his hand, and swung his
horse slightly away from her; his own back stiffened a little in
response to the chilled atmosphere.
"Yes," she said at last, "we'll forget all about it, Mr. Campbell."
"You called me Ford, a while ago," he hinted.
"Did I? One forms the habit of picking up a man's given name, out here
in the West, I find. I'm sorry--"
"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to do it again. All the time,"
he added boldly.
He caught the gleam of her eyes under her heavy lashes, as she glanced
at him sidelong.
"If you go looking at me out of the corner of your eyes," he threatened
recklessly, kicking his horse closer, "I'm liable to kiss you!"
And he did, before she could draw away.
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