intuition—”
“Woman’s intuition nothing,” said Andrew
Royal shortly. “That twittering hen of a Henney woman didn’t see a
thing when you flapped the evidence around right under her nose.
Women aren’t created equal.”
Edgerton was hard put to it, for a moment, to
keep from laughing.
He looked across at the other two. It was
perhaps something he saw in their faces that prompted his next
speech.
He stood up and looked out of the window. “It
looks like a beautiful morning,” he said. “Since that’s the case,
Sheriff—suppose you join me on the platform for a breath of
air?”
“Air!” said Andrew Royal, staring at him in
frank amazement.
“Yes,” said Edgerton, taking him by the arm.
“You’ll find it invigorating, I’m sure. You’ve been through a great
deal, you know, Sheriff, and you could do with a little bracing up.
Fresh air ought to be just the thing. And—let’s leave that here,
shall we?” he added, twitching the shawl away from the indignant
sheriff’s hands and bestowing it on his own side of the seat; and
forestalled Royal’s protest with, “Really, Sheriff. I’m sure Mrs.
Meade would say it was questionable taste for morning
wear—especially for a man of your age.”
He steered the sputtering sheriff down the
aisle of the car and out at the door, and it closed behind
them.
Randall and Charity watched them go, both
smiling a little, and when the two men had disappeared they sat
quietly for a few moments. There were only one or two other people
in the carriage, so they were nearly alone.
Randall gently turned over Charity’s hand in
his own, looking at the faint purple shadow of a bruise on her
wrist. He looked down into her face. “You’re sure you’re all right,
darling?” he said.
“Yes,” said Charity. “They were a little bit
rough with me, but—I’m not hurt. I’m fine now.”
He smiled down at her, and leaned his head
tiredly against the cushion of the seat, without taking his eyes
from her face. The marks of two sleepless nights, and the days of
anxiety, showed plainly on his face in the strong daylight.
“Poor darling,” said Charity softly, touching
his arm gently with her free hand. There was happiness, though,
too, in her eyes as they dwelt on his tired face; a quiet joy in
knowing that she was loved so much as to cause this concern. “Did I
frighten you very much?”
Randall tried to laugh, not succeeding too
well. “Frightened hardly seems like a big enough word.”
Charity was looking down as she spoke, a
little carefully. “Were you…afraid that the things they said about
me were true?”
Randall moved his head awkwardly against the
cushion, and stared across at a ray of sunlight on the opposite
seat as he tried to think of the right words for his answer. “No,”
he said after a moment. “Never all the way. I didn’t realize it
then…but I know now that I didn’t really believe it. But I was
surely scared for a while, because the more I thought, the more I
realized that I didn’t know anything about you that could prove it
all wrong. Nothing! Charity, do you realize that I don’t even know
your middle name?”
“I can remedy that easily enough,” said
Charity, gravely, but with a delightful little glimmering of humor
in her voice. “I can tell you all sorts of things, in fact. What
more about me would you like to know?”
“Everything,” said Randall impulsively.
“Everything there is to know. I want to know all about you—every
last, littlest detail, so I’ll have that many more things to love
you for.”
“And where shall I begin?” said Charity
softly, her cheek against his arm.
“Don’t begin now,” said Randall. “You don’t
have to. The nicest thing is, I’ve got all the time in the world to
learn.”
* * *
“May I help you, Mrs. Meade?”
Mrs. Meade looked up from an assortment of
yard goods that she had been sorting her way through for the past
quarter of an hour without any apparent
“Woman’s intuition nothing,” said Andrew
Royal shortly. “That twittering hen of a Henney woman didn’t see a
thing when you flapped the evidence around right under her nose.
Women aren’t created equal.”
Edgerton was hard put to it, for a moment, to
keep from laughing.
He looked across at the other two. It was
perhaps something he saw in their faces that prompted his next
speech.
He stood up and looked out of the window. “It
looks like a beautiful morning,” he said. “Since that’s the case,
Sheriff—suppose you join me on the platform for a breath of
air?”
“Air!” said Andrew Royal, staring at him in
frank amazement.
“Yes,” said Edgerton, taking him by the arm.
“You’ll find it invigorating, I’m sure. You’ve been through a great
deal, you know, Sheriff, and you could do with a little bracing up.
Fresh air ought to be just the thing. And—let’s leave that here,
shall we?” he added, twitching the shawl away from the indignant
sheriff’s hands and bestowing it on his own side of the seat; and
forestalled Royal’s protest with, “Really, Sheriff. I’m sure Mrs.
Meade would say it was questionable taste for morning
wear—especially for a man of your age.”
He steered the sputtering sheriff down the
aisle of the car and out at the door, and it closed behind
them.
Randall and Charity watched them go, both
smiling a little, and when the two men had disappeared they sat
quietly for a few moments. There were only one or two other people
in the carriage, so they were nearly alone.
Randall gently turned over Charity’s hand in
his own, looking at the faint purple shadow of a bruise on her
wrist. He looked down into her face. “You’re sure you’re all right,
darling?” he said.
“Yes,” said Charity. “They were a little bit
rough with me, but—I’m not hurt. I’m fine now.”
He smiled down at her, and leaned his head
tiredly against the cushion of the seat, without taking his eyes
from her face. The marks of two sleepless nights, and the days of
anxiety, showed plainly on his face in the strong daylight.
“Poor darling,” said Charity softly, touching
his arm gently with her free hand. There was happiness, though,
too, in her eyes as they dwelt on his tired face; a quiet joy in
knowing that she was loved so much as to cause this concern. “Did I
frighten you very much?”
Randall tried to laugh, not succeeding too
well. “Frightened hardly seems like a big enough word.”
Charity was looking down as she spoke, a
little carefully. “Were you…afraid that the things they said about
me were true?”
Randall moved his head awkwardly against the
cushion, and stared across at a ray of sunlight on the opposite
seat as he tried to think of the right words for his answer. “No,”
he said after a moment. “Never all the way. I didn’t realize it
then…but I know now that I didn’t really believe it. But I was
surely scared for a while, because the more I thought, the more I
realized that I didn’t know anything about you that could prove it
all wrong. Nothing! Charity, do you realize that I don’t even know
your middle name?”
“I can remedy that easily enough,” said
Charity, gravely, but with a delightful little glimmering of humor
in her voice. “I can tell you all sorts of things, in fact. What
more about me would you like to know?”
“Everything,” said Randall impulsively.
“Everything there is to know. I want to know all about you—every
last, littlest detail, so I’ll have that many more things to love
you for.”
“And where shall I begin?” said Charity
softly, her cheek against his arm.
“Don’t begin now,” said Randall. “You don’t
have to. The nicest thing is, I’ve got all the time in the world to
learn.”
* * *
“May I help you, Mrs. Meade?”
Mrs. Meade looked up from an assortment of
yard goods that she had been sorting her way through for the past
quarter of an hour without any apparent
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