The Gray Dawn | Page 4

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."
Near the foot of the veranda steps waited Sam at the heads of a pair of beautiful, slim, satiny horses. Their bay coats had been groomed until they rippled and sparkled with every movement of the muscles beneath. Wide red- lined nostrils softly expanded and contracted with a restrained eagerness; and soft eyes rolled in the direction of the Sherwoods--keen, lithe, nervous, high-strung creatures, gently stamping little hoofs, impatiently tossing dainty heads, but nevertheless making no movement that would stir the vehicle that stood "cramped" at the steps. Their harness carried no blinders; their tails, undocked, swept the ground; but their heads were pulled into the air by the old stupid overhead check reins until their noses pointed almost straight ahead. It gave them rather a haughty air.
Sherwood stepped in first, took the reins