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In so far as her education and culture went, she was an astonishment. He had met the scientifically smattered young woman before, but Frona had something more than smattering. Further, she gave new life to old facts, and her interpretations of common things were coherent and vigorous and new.
At their feet the ice sloped down into a miniature gorge, across which the sun cast a broad shadow. "Go on, Tommy," Frona bade. "We're half-way over, and there's water down there." "It's water ye'd be thinkin' on, is it?" he snarled, "and you a-leadin' a buddie to his death!"
And as though the horror of Borg's end were not enough, to be considered the murderer, and haled up for mob justice! Forgive me, Frona. I am beside myself. Of course, I know that you will believe me." "Then tell me, Gregory." "In the first place, the woman, Bella, lied. She must have been crazed to make that dying statement when I fought as I did for her and Borg. That is the only explanation "
And, now, does it pay?" "Yes, it pays. Of course it pays. Who can doubt it?" Lucile's eyes twinkled amusedly. "Why do you smile?" Frona asked. "Look at me, Frona." Lucile stood up and her face blazed. "I am twenty-four. Not altogether a fright; not altogether a dunce. I have a heart. I have good red blood and warm. And I have loved. I do not remember the pay. I know only that I have paid."
My camp outfit is at Happy Camp, and I can't very well stay here," Frona smiled winsomely, but there was no appeal in the smile; no feminine helplessness throwing itself on the strength and chivalry of the male. "Do reconsider and take me across." "No." "I'll give you fifty." "No, I say." "But I'm not afraid, you know." The young fellow's eyes flashed angrily.
Her painful hesitancy brought Frona to a realization of her own thoughtlessness. But she had made the step, and she knew she could not retrace it. "We will go back together," she said, bravely. And in candid all-knowledge of the other, "I do not mind." Then it was that the blood surged into the woman's cold face, and her hand went out to the girl in the old, old way.
But Frona, realizing her own pressing need by the growing absence of sensation in her feet, stepped forward. "Hello, Del!" she called. The mirth froze on his face at the familiar sound and he slowly and unwilling turned his head to meet her.
But you said Lucile. Is that her name? I wish I knew her better." Corliss winced. "Don't! You hurt me when you say such things." "And why, pray?" "Because because " "Yes?" "Because I honor woman highly. Frona, you have always made a stand for frankness, and I can now advantage by it. It hurts me because of the honor in which I hold you, because I cannot bear to see taint approach you.
He looked at her appealingly, and, though she pressed his hand sympathetically, she remained silent, weighing pro and con what she had heard. She shook her head slowly. "It's a bad case, and the thing is to convince them " "But, my God, Frona, I am innocent! I have not been a saint, perhaps, but my hands are clean from blood." "But remember, Gregory," she said, gently, "I am not to judge you.
For in every such case of return, the impulse was sound, only that time and space interfered, and propinquity determined whether the object of choice should be bar-maid or peasant girl. Happily for Vance Corliss, time and space were propitious, and in Frona he found the culture he could not do without, and the clean sharp tang of the earth he needed.
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