But, just as he turned toward her with
lips half opened for a bitter sentence, he saw a dimple appear in
the cheek next to him, and held back the words.
"You told me you didn't like me," she reminded, looking at him
briefly, and afterward fumbling her reins. "You can't expect a
girl--"
"I suppose you don't remember coming up to me that first night,
and calling me names, and telling me how you hated me, and--and
winding up by pinching me?" he insinuated with hypocritical
reproach, and felt of his arm. "If you could see the mark--" he
hinted shamelessly.
Evadna replied by pushing up her sleeve and displaying a scratch
at least an inch in length, and still roughened and red. "I
suppose you don't remember trying to MURDER me?" she inquired,
sweetly triumphant. "If you could shoot as well as Jack, I'd
have been killed very likely. And you'd be in jail this minute,"
she added, with virtuous solemnity.
"But you're not killed, and I'm not in jail."
"And I haven't told a living soul about it--not even Aunt
Phoebe," Evadna remarked, still painfully virtuous.
Pages:
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169