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The railroad people pushed him right along into a good thing, and the women across the river the best of them were nice to him. I have an idea the er new Mrs. Harboro will recall some of us to a realization of a truth which we're rather proud of ignoring, down here on the river: I mean, that we've no business asking people about their antecedents." Dunwoodie shook his head.
He came finally to Sylvia, and she drifted away with him, her hand resting on his shoulder like a kiss. "I thought you would never come to me," she said in a lifeless voice. "You knew I would," was the response. Her lips said nothing more. But her heart was beating against him; it was speaking to him with clarity, with eloquence. Harboro and Sylvia were taking leave of Wayne and Valdez.
At the worst she might save Harboro, and there was even a chance that she could make Fectnor see her position as she saw it that she could persuade him to be merciful to her. Surely for the sake of security and peace in all the years that lay before her.... A definite purpose dawned in her eyes. She went to her room and began deliberately to choose her most becoming street costume.
We shouldn't want them to go to a hotel, should we? I mean, if they were people we really cared for?" "I hadn't thought," she answered. She went to the window and looked out; but the gray sands, pallid under the night sky, did not afford a soothing picture. She turned to Harboro almost as if she were a stranger to him. "Have you many friends?" she asked.
For the moment an old type of fandango was being danced a dance not wholly unlike a quadrille, in that it admitted a number of persons to the set and afforded opportunity for certain individual exhibitions of skill. And then Harboro, glancing beyond Valdez, observed that a man of mature years a Mexican was regarding Sylvia fixedly.
"Well, then, I don't want to marry him," continued Sylvia. Harboro ignored her. "What do you say, Runyon?" "In view of her unwillingness, and the fact that she is already married " "Runyon!" The word was pronounced almost like a snarl. Runyon had adopted a facetious tone which had stirred Harboro's fury. Something of the resiliency of Runyon's being vanished at that tone in the other man's voice.
She spent much of her time among the things which reminded her most strongly of Harboro; she sought out little services she could perform for him, to delight him when he returned. She talked with more than common interest with Antonia, following the old woman from kitchen to dining-room and back again. She seemed particularly in need of human companionship, of sympathy.
Madame had considered this, and him, and had smiled. Madame's smile had impressed him curiously. There had been no co-operation between lips and eyes. The eyes had opened a little wider, as if with a stimulated rapaciousness. The lips had opened to the extent of a nicely achieved, symmetrical crescent of teeth. It made Harboro think of a carefully constructed Jack-o'-Lantern.
Harboro had stipulated that they should be safe horses, of good appearance; and the boy from the stable, who had brought them, regarded them with beaming eyes when Harboro examined them. The boy evidently looked at the affair much as Sylvia did as if the selection of the horse was far more important than the determining of a destination. "They seem to be all right," ventured Harboro.
"You are welcome brother!" was the response. The man on the bench was smiling. He coughed a little, and wondered if the open-air treatment the physician had prescribed might not prove a bit heroic. When he looked about him again his late companion was gone. Harboro was hurrying down toward the Rio Grande bridge. He was trying to put a curb on his emotions, on his movements.
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