She turned her head a moment and looked at him.
Winston nodded. "Yes, I heard," he said. "Why did you do it?"
Maud Barrington made a little gesture of impatience. "That is quite
unnecessary. You know I sent you."
"Yes," said Winston, a trifle dryly, "I see. You would have felt mean
if you hadn't defended me?"
"No," said the girl, with a curious smile. "That was not exactly the
reason, but we cannot talk too long here. Dane is anxious to take us
home in his new buggy, but it would apparently be a very tight fit for
three. Will you drive me over?"
Winston only nodded, for Mrs. Macdonald approached in pursuit of him,
but he spent the rest of the evening in a state of expectancy, and Maud
Barrington fancied that his hard hands were suspiciously unresponsive
as she took them when he helped her into the Silverdale wagon--a
vehicle a strong man could have lifted, and in no way resembling its
English prototype. The team was mettlesome, the lights of Macdonald's
homestead soon faded behind them, and they were racing with many a
lurch and jolt straight as the crow flies across the prairie.
There was no moon, but the stars shone far up in the soft indigo, and
the grasses whirled back in endless ripples to the humming wheels,
dimmed to the dusky blue that suffused the whole intermerging sweep of
earth and sky. The sweetness of wild peppermint rose through the
coolness of the dew, and the voices of the wilderness were part of the
silence that was but the perfect balance of the nocturnal harmonies.
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