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Page 16
"Seventy pounds!" exclaimed Carley, gayly. "I thought it was more."
"Carley, you must excuse my violence," said Glenn. "I've been hugging
sheep. That is, when I shear a sheep I have to hold him."
They all laughed, and so the moment of readjustment passed. Presently
Carley found herself sitting at table, directly across from Flo. A pearly
whiteness was slowly warming out of the girl's face. Her frank clear eyes
met Carley's and they had nothing to hide. Carley's first requisite for
character in a woman was that she be a thoroughbred. She lacked it often
enough herself to admire it greatly in another woman. And that moment saw a
birth of respect and sincere liking in her for this Western girl. If Flo
Hutter ever was a rival she would be an honest one.
Not long after supper Tom Hutter winked at Carley and said he "reckoned on
general principles it was his hunch to go to bed." Mrs. Hutter suddenly
discovered tasks to perform elsewhere. And Flo said in her cool sweet
drawl, somehow audacious and tantalizing, "Shore you two will want to
spoon."
"Now, Flo, Eastern girls are no longer old-fashioned enough for that,"
declared Glenn.
"Too bad! Reckon I can't see how love could ever be old-fashioned. Good
night, Glenn. Good night, Carley."
Flo stood an instant at the foot of the dark stairway where the light from
the lamp fell upon her face. It seemed sweet and earnest to Carley. It
expressed unconscious longing, but no envy. Then she ran up the stairs to
disappear.
"Glenn, is that girl in love with you?" asked Carley, bluntly.
To her amaze, Glenn laughed. When had she heard him laugh? It thrilled her,
yet nettled her a little.
"If that isn't like you!" he ejaculated. "Your very first words after we
are left alone! It brings back the East, Carley."
"Probably recall to memory will be good for you," returned Carley. "But
tell me. Is she in love with you?"
"Why, no, certainly not!" replied Glenn. "Anyway, how could I answer such a
question? It just made me laugh, that's all."
"Humph! I can remember when you were not above making love to a pretty
girl. You certainly had me worn to a frazzle--before we became engaged,"
said Carley.
"Old times! How long ago they seem! . . . Carley, it's sure wonderful to
see you."
"How do you like my gown?" asked Carley, pirouetting for his benefit.
"Well, what little there is of it is beautiful," he replied, with a slow
smile. "I always liked you best in white. Did you remember?"
"Yes. I got the gown for you. And I'll never wear it except for you."
"Same old coquette--same old eternal feminine," he said, half sadly. "You
know when you look stunning. . . . But, Carley, the cut of that--or rather
the abbreviation of it--inclines me to think that style for women's clothes
has not changed for the better. In fact, it's worse than two years ago in
Paris and later in New York. Where will you women draw the line?"
"Women are slaves to the prevailing mode," rejoined Carley. "I don't
imagine women who dress would ever draw a line, if fashion went on
dictating."
"But would they care so much--if they had to work--plenty of work--and
children?" inquired Glenn, wistfully.
"Glenn! Work and children for modern women? Why, you are dreaming!" said
Carley, with a laugh.
She saw him gaze thoughtfully into the glowing embers of the fire, and as
she watched him her quick intuition grasped a subtle change in his mood. It
brought a sternness to his face. She could hardly realize she was looking
at the Glenn Kilbourne of old.
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