The Gray Dawn | Page 4

the _Panama_--do you know?"
But with masculine persistence he refused to abandon the topic.
"I must confess I don't see the point," he insisted. "You've got more
brains than the whole lot of them together, you've got more sense,
you're a lot better looking"--he surveyed her, standing in the full light
by the canary's cage, her little glossy head thrown back, her pink lips
pouted teasingly at the charmed and agitated bird, her fine clear
features profiled in the gold of the sunshine--"and you're a
thoroughbred, egad, which most of them are not."
"Oh, thank you, kind sir." She threw him a humourous glance. "But of
course that is not the point."
"Oh, isn't it? Well, perhaps you'll tell me the point."
She left the canary and came to face him.
"I'm not respectable," she said.
At the word he exploded.
"Respectable? What are you talking about? You talk as though--as

though we weren't married, egad!"
"Well, Jack," she replied, a faint mocking smile curving the corners of
her mouth, "when it comes to that, we did elope, you'll have to
acknowledge. And we weren't married for quite a long time afterward."
"We got married as soon as we could, didn't we?" he cried indignantly.
"Was it our fault that we didn't get married sooner? And what
difference did it make, anyway?"
"Now don't get all worked up," she chided. "I'm just telling you why, in
the eyes of some of these people, I'm not 'respectable.' You asked me,
you know."
"Go on," he conceded to this last.
"Well, we ran away and weren't married. That's item one. Then perhaps
you've forgotten that I sat on lookout for some of your games in the
early days in the mining camps?"
"Forgotten?" said Sherwood, the light of reminiscence springing to his
eyes.
The same light had come into hers.
"Will you ever forget," she murmured, "the camps by the summer
streams, the log towns, the lights, the smoke, the freedom--the
comradeship--"
"Homesick for the old rough days?" he teased.
"Kind of," she confessed. "But it wasn't 'respectable'--a--well, a fairly
good-looking woman in a miner's saloon."
He flared again.
"Do you mean to tell me they dare say--"
"They dare say anything--behind our backs," she said, with cool

contempt. "It's all drivelling nonsense. I care nothing about it. But you
asked me. Don't bother your head about it. Have you anything to
suggest doing this morning, instead of Yet Lee's?" She turned away
from him toward the door leading into another room. "I'll get my hat,"
she said over her shoulder.
"Look here, Patsy," said Sherwood, rather grimly, "if you want to get in
with that lot, you shall."
She stopped at this, and turned square around.
"If I do--when I do--I will," she replied. "But, John Sherwood, you
mustn't interfere--never in the world! Promise!" She stood there, almost
menacing in her insistence, evidently resolved to nip this particularly
masculine resolution in the bud.
"Egad, Patsy," cried Sherwood, "you are certainly a raving beauty!"
He covered the ground between them in two strides, and crushed her in
his arms. She threw her head back for his kiss.
A knock sounded, and almost immediately a very black, very
bullet-headed young negro thrust his head in at the door.
"Sam," said Sherwood deliberately, "some day I'm going to kill you!"
"Yes, sah! yes, sah!" agreed Sam heartily.
"Well, what the devil do you want?"
"Th' Panama done been, signalled; yes, sah!" said the negro, but
without following his head through the door.
"Well, what the devil do you suppose I care, you black limb?" roared
Sherwood, "and what do you mean coming in here before you're told?"
"Yes, sah! yes, sah, dat's right," ducked Sam, "Shell I awdah the team,
sah?"

"I suppose we might as well go see her docked. Would you like it?" he
asked his wife.
"I'd love it."
"Then get the team. And some day I'm going to kill you."

III
Mrs. Sherwood prepared herself first of all by powdering her nose. This
simple operation, could it have been seen by the "respectable" members
of the community, would in itself have branded her as "fast," In those
days cosmetics of any sort were by most considered inventions of the
devil. It took extraordinary firmness of character even to protect one's
self against sunburn by anything more artificial than the shadow of a
hat or a parasol. Then she assumed a fascinating little round hat that
fitted well down over her small head. This, innocent of pins, was held
on by an elastic at the back. A ribbon, hanging down directly in front,
could be utilized to steady it in a breeze.
"All ready," she announced, picking up a tiny parasol, about big
enough for a modern doll. "You may carry my mantle."