"
"You are not going--"
"No. The bump on my head must have settled my brain. As soon as I came
to I saw how crazy it would be. That is why I don't want to go on West."
"I see. For fear of his overbearing you."
"Yes. Though I don't think he could now. I think I'm over it. Poor old
Del! He's had a narrow escape from losing me. I hope he never hears of
it. Placid though he is, that might stir him up."
"Then you'll go back to him?"
The girl sighed. "I suppose so. How can I tell? I'm only twenty, and it
seems to me that somebody has been trying to marry me ever since I
stopped petting my dolls. I'm tired of men, men, men! That's why I want
to live alone and quiet for a while in the station-agent's shack."
"Then you don't consider Mr. Banneker as belonging to the tribe of men?"
"He's an official. I could always see his uniform, at need." She fell
into thought. "It's a curious thing," she mused.
Miss Van Arsdale said nothing.
"This queer young cub of a station-agent of yours is strangely like
Carter Holmesley, not as much in looks as in--well--atmosphere. Only,
he's ever so much better-looking."
"Won't you have some tea? You must be tired," said Miss Van Arsdale
politely.
CHAPTER VII
Somewhere within the soul of civilized woman burns a craving for that
higher power of sensation which we dub sensationalism.
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