And she wished
that Joshua, her Joshua, would return. She herself had thought
that, so far as she was concerned, those periods of tender and
gentle sentiment would be episodic; but it was another thing for
him to think so--and to show it frankly. "I feel as if I'd had an
adventure with a bear," said she, half-laughing, half-resentful.
"So you did," declared he; "I'm a bear--and every other sort of
animal--except rabbit. There's no rabbit in me. Now, your men--the
Grant Arkwrights--are all rabbit."
"At least," said she, "do refrain from tearing my hair down. A
woman who does her hair well hates to have it mussed."
"I'll try to remember," was his careless answer. "As I was about
to say, our discovery that you are not a lady out of a story-book,
but a human being and a very sweet one--it came just in the nick
of time. We're leaving here to-night."
Now she saw the reason for the persistence of the Craig of noise
and bluster--and craft. "To-night?" she exclaimed. "It's
impossible."
"Yes--we go at five o'clock. Tickets are bought--sleeper section
engaged--everything arranged."
"But Uncle Dan doesn't expect us for four days yet."
"I've sent him a telegram.
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