b
doesn't entitle a man to a lay-off. I hope your sister continues to
improve?" he added, looking at Gertrude.

"She does, thank you. Mrs. Whitney and I have been talking of the day
we met you at the irrigation--" he did not help her to a word--"works,"
she continued, feeling the slight confusion of the pause. "You"--he
looked at her so calmly that it was still confusing--"you were hurt
before we met you and we must have seemed unconcerned under the
circumstances. We speak often at Glen Tarn of the delightful weeks we
spent in your mountain wilds last summer," she added.

Glover thanked her, but appeared absorbed in Mrs. Whitney's attempt to
disengage her eye-glasses from their holder, and Gertrude made no
further effort to break his restraint. Mrs. Whitney talked, and Glover
talked, but Gertrude reserved her bolt until just before their train
started.

He had gone with them, and they were standing on the platform before
the vestibule steps of their Pullman car. As the last moment
approached it was not hard to see that Glover was torn between Mrs.
Whitney's rapid-fire talk and a desire to hear something from Gertrude.

She waited till the train was moving before she loosed her shaft. Mrs.
Whitney had ascended the steps, the porter was impatient, Glover
nervous. Gertrude turned with a smile and a totally bewildering
cordiality on the unfortunate man. "My sister," her glove was on the
hand-rail, "sends some sort of a message to Mr. Glover every time I
come to Medicine Bend--but the gist of them all is that she would be
very"--the train was moving and they were stepping along with it--"glad
to see you at Glen Tarn before----"

"Gertrude," screamed Mrs. Whitney, "will you get on?"

Glover's eyes were growing like target-lights.

"--before we go East," continued Gertrude. "So should I," she added,
throwing in the last three words most inexplicably, as she kept step
with the engineer. But she had not miscalculated the effect.

"Are you to go soon?" he exclaimed. The porter followed them
helplessly with his stool. Mrs. Whitney wrung her hands, and Gertrude
attempted to reach the lower tread of the car step.

Someone very decidedly helped her, and she laughed and rose from his
hands as lightly as to a stirrup. When she collected herself, after
the pleasure of the spring, Mrs. Whitney was scolding her for her
carelessness; but she was waving a glove from the vestibule at a big
hat still lifted in the dus