"She would not be eternally apologizing to herself for liking me,
anyway," he retorted acrimoniously, as if he found it very hard
to forgive Evadna her conscious superiority of race and
upbringing. "Squaw."
"Oh, I haven't a doubt of that!" Phoebe rose to the defense of
her own blood. "I don't know as it's in her to apologize for
anything. I never saw such a girl for going right ahead as if
her way is the only way! Bull-headed, I'd call her." She looked
at Good Indian afterward, studying his face with motherly
solicitude.
"I believe you're half in love with her right now and don't know
it!" she accused suddenly.
Good Indian laughed softly and bent to his work again.
"ARE you, Grant?" Phoebe laid a moist hand on his shoulder, and
felt the muscles sliding smoothly beneath his clothing while he
moved a rock. "I ain't mad because you and Vadnie fell out; I
kind of looked for it to happen. Love that grows like a mushroom
lasts about as long--only _I_ don't call it love! You might tell
me--"
"Tell you what?" But Grant did not look up.
Pages:
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433