"Shall I tell you why your hand went to your breast when I first
mentioned that the train was going to be held up, and again when
your father's eyes were firing a mighty pointed question at you?"
"I don't know what you mean," she retorted, again mistress of
herself.
Her gallant bearing compelled his admiration. The scornful eyes,
the satirical lift of the nostrils, the erect, graceful figure,
all flung a challenge at him. He called himself hard names for
putting her on the rack, but the necessity to make her believe in
him was strong within him.
"I noticed you went right chalky when I announced the hold-up,
and I thought it was because you were scared. That was where I
did you an injustice, ma'am, and you can call this an apology.
You've got sand. If it hadn't been for what you carry in the
chamois skin hanging on the chain round your neck you would have
enjoyed every minute of the little entertainment. You're as game
as they make them."
"May I ask how you arrived at this melodramatic conclusion?" she
asked, her disdainful lip curling.
"By using my eyes and my ears, ma'am. I shouldn't have noticed
your likeness to Major Mackenzie, perhaps, if I hadn't observed
that there was a secret understanding between you.
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