But when I could look at her I seldom wasted time on scenery. Looking at
her now I tried to get again that impression of a difference in her. It
eluded me.
Just now with the rose in her brown cheeks, her hair flying, her eyes
with grave instead of mocking light, she seemed only prettier than
usual. I got down ostensibly to tighten the saddle girths on her horse.
But I lingered over the task.
Presently, when she looked down at me, I received that subtle impression
of change, and read it as her soft mood of dangerous sweetness that came
so seldom, mingled with something deeper, more of character and
womanliness than I had ever sensed in her.
"Russ, it wasn't nice to tell Diane that," she said.
"Nice! It was--oh, I'd like to swear!" I ejaculated. "But now I
understand my miserable feeling. I was jealous, Sally, I'm sorry. I
apologize."
She had drawn off her gloves, and one little hand, brown, shapely,
rested upon her knee very near to me. I took it in mine. She let it
stay, though she looked away from me, the color rich in her cheeks.
"I can forgive that," she murmured. "But the lie. Jealousy doesn't
excuse a lie."
"You mean--what I intimated to your cousin," I said, trying to make her
look at me.
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