XIII
THERE was a little silence. Prue's gaze wavered and fell. Finally, "I never heard—" she began falteringly, and stopped.
"Of all the absurd—" she began again.
"Absurd, if you like," he said calmly. "Do I get it?"
She raised her eyes and studied his face a moment, their glances meeting and challenging in the dim light. Then a little smile crept around her lips.
"That, I suppose," she said lightly, "is what you'd call a sporting proposition, Mr. Forbes?"
"You said I liked risks. I'm taking one."
Then you propose," she asked with a return of the old mockery, "to make a complete conquest of my—my affections in something like two hours, Mr. Forbes?"
"Nearer an hour and a half, I'd say, Miss Burnett. No, I say nothing about making a complete conquest; perhaps I shall only succeed in losing what little ground I have; but it's a fighting chance and I'll take it. What do you say? Call it a sporting proposition, if you like; call it rank lunacy."
"And what—am I supposed to agree to? What am I to do?"
"Nothing except forget that you have known me only a day; give me the same standing as Smith; let me start even with him. Will you?"
"It sounds amusing," she said carelessly, "but—"
"You're not afraid?" he challenged.
"Afraid? Not the least bit, Mr. Forbes." She laughed softly and settled back in the corner. "Pray begin."
"Thanks." Wade gave a sigh, took a knee in his hands and faced her smilingly. "Whether I win or lose, Miss Burnett, you've been generous. You see, I grant the possibility of defeat."
"That's modest," she murmured.
"Meaning that it isn't. Well, perhaps modesty isn't one of the things they teach out our way. Modesty, in fact, doesn't do a chap much good when he's hustling for things in our country. It's the chap who elbows his way through and reaches out and grabs what he's after that makes the hit. I've done that; had to. Usually I've got what I wanted. When I told Dave—Dave is my partner, and the best old rough diamond that ever lived. When I told him that I had seen the woman I wanted, and had set my mind on getting her, Dave was a little inclined to be pessimistic at first. 'You can't come here and pick out a gal and just marry her out of hand,' said Dave. Then I asked him why not, and he didn't seem to know. After he'd thought it over a while he concluded it wasn't so unreasonable after all. 'I don't say you won't do it,' be said. 'I don't recollect ever seeing you go after a thing and not get it.' And that's encouraging, anyhow."
"Now you're trying to intimidate me," she said, affecting alarm.
"No, I wasn't, really," he laughed. "Besides, there's a saying that all signs fail in dry weather."
She shook her head. "I fear that's beyond me, Mr. Forbes."
"It is rather obscure, I'll confess. But I understand that saying to mean that as long as it doesn't much matter, you can tell what the weather is going to be from a study of the signs, but when there's a long drought and it means a lot to have rain, the usual indications can't be depended on. Perhaps it's so in my case. The fact that I've usually obtained what I wanted when my wants weren't vastly important, doesn't signify that I won't fail now that I'm after what really counts. Rather involved, isn't it?"
"A little," she agreed. "Tell me about this Dave. You say he is your partner? And you are interested in mining?"
"We own a mine together, Miss Burnett, the Better Days, at Lone Mesa, Colorado. We found it at a time when we were both about as hard up as we could be and the name explains what we hoped for. And we weren't disappointed. The Better Days is one of the best little producers in the state and we haven't much more than scratched the surface yet. It was hard work for a while, though. Winter shut down on us before we'd got much done and we had to worry through it without knowing for certain whether we'd really struck a good lode or merely a pocket. There were times that winter—" He stopped with a shake of his head.
"Tell me," she said interestedly. "How did you happen to find it? Did you just stumble on it the way they do in stories?"
"Not a bit of it! We prospected for almost three months before we found that claim. We'd been down in the southwest. Our grub gave out and we had to get back. We struck Telluride dead-broke and lay around there for a week trying to get someone to grub-stake us. Finally we did manage to get another start. But we couldn't go very far on what we had and so we decided to look about nearby. You remember the old story of the man who traveled around the world looking for a four-leafed clover or something and then came back empty-handed only to find what he sought at his own door-step? It was that way with us. Lone Mesa is only a short distance from Telluride. There were a few claims being worked there when we reached it, but no one was getting rich. We looked the place over and began to scratch around and inside of a week we hit on our claim. We filed and I went to Denver and bullied a man there into lending us enough money to develop. It was late by that time, though, and the snows came, and we had to wait for spring. But in the spring we found that we were to be repaid for waiting. Now we're shipping three or four cars a day to the mills."
"But it is just like a story, after all, Mr Forbes. And this Dave, it was he who was with you that evening at the opera! A great big man with a voice like—like a fog-horn?"
"That was Dave. He had never been East in his life and I persuaded him to come and see the country. He had a wonderful time, Miss Burnett, and it was a lot of fun for me, you may be sure. He's a devoted admirer of yours, by the way. He said you were a 'peach!'"
Prue laughed. "He must have found lots of things to interest him," she said. "I'd like to have met him. He was lovely the night he pushed that man away from me in front of the opera house. For a moment I was quite as scared of him as I was of the other; until I saw his face."
"He's one of the best men the Lord ever made," said Wade earnestly. "But he was funny in New York. Let me tell you about how he bought a red dress for his wife."
So Wade recounted their adventures in search of the flamingo gown, and Prue found it vastly amusing. He followed that with other incidents of Dave's stay in the metropolis, and then harked back to the West and told of his first meeting with Dave. And when he stopped Prue sighed.
"It must be wonderful to be a man," she said thoughtfully. "He has so many things happen to him."
"Not all pleasant, though," said Wade smilingly.
"What does that matter? They're—they're things, they're adventures! Women just exist; their days are all alike; nothing ever really happens to them."
"Is today like all your other days?" asked Wade.
"No, that's true," she laughed. "I'm really having an adventure! I've been kidnapped and held captive by—by a very desperate character who—" She paused and went on gravely; "Do you know, Mr. Forbes, I'd quite forgotten that you were—were—"
"So had I," answered Wade truthfully. "And—" looking at his watch—"I've wasted a half-hour!" He laughed ruefully. "I shall have to make up for lost time, Miss Burnett. By the way, I dare say Smith calls you by your first name?"
"Sometimes," she replied gravely.
"And you call him—Kingdon?"
"Just King."
"Then, Prue—"
"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the girl startledly.
"I called you Prue," he said calmly. "I was to have the same privileges as Smith, wasn't I?"
"Oh! … But—"
"Does he kiss you?"
"No!" This resentfully and explosively.
"I'm glad of that," mused Wade. "Not but what—"
He didn't finish, but the color crept into Prue's cheeks.
"Tell me," he said, "what it is about me that you don't like."
"That I don't like?" she faltered.
"Yes," he answered encouragingly. Where in your judgment do I fall short as—as a future husband?"
"Why—why, I don't know you, Mr. Forbes."
"Wade, please," he said gently.
"I shan't!" she cried with crimsoning face.
"Well—we'll waive that for the moment. Is that all? It's only that you don't know me?"
"Of course that isn't all! I don't—care for you."
"You mean you don't love me?" She nodded.
"Do you think you could, Prue?"
"You've no right to ask such a question," she replied indignantly.
"Yes, I have a right to ask it. And you have a right to refuse to answer it," he said utroubledly.
"Then I use my right," she said a little hysterically.
"Still, you see, don't you, that neither of the reasons you have advanced are—adequate?"
"I see nothing of the sort."
"But look!" He tapped one palm with his pipe as though to lend emphasis. "The first objection is easily remedied. I'm not hard to know. That merely takes a little time; say a week or ten days. The second objection—well, I don't say positively that that can be remedied, but I think it might. Do you?"
"I—I haven't considered it."
"Well, won't you, please? You see, it makes a lot of difference to me, Prue."
"You have no right to call me Prue!"
"You're forgetting our compact."
"Well, you needn't—do it so much, then."
"I'll try not to. You decline to consider it, then?"
"I do."
"That's unwise. For all you know I may be just the chap for you. I think you ought to give the matter thought. Don't you?"
"I think you're acting very silly and talking a great deal of nonsense," said Prue severely.
"Well, unless there were some doubt in my favor you wouldn't need to consider that question; you'd know without thinking about it. So I shall conclude that if you knew me better you might learn to care for me."
"I never said such a thing, Mr. Forbes!"
"No, the conclusion is mine."
"It's a wrong conclusion, then!"
"I hope not."
"Mr. Forbes, you are making me very angry."
"I'm sorry. Still, I'd rather have you angry with me than totally indifferent."
"But I am indifferent!"
"Then you're not angry. And I'm glad of that, for I'm not nearly through yet."
Prue sighed exasperatedly and folded her 
"PRUE SIGHED EXASPERATEDLY—ASSUMING AN EXPRESSION OF BORED PATIENCE"
"Go on," she said. "If you have any more absurd things to say, please say them and get through."
"They're not absurd," he answered gently. "Prue, I love you with all my heart and soul, dear, and I want you to marry me. Wait, please! I know the whole thing looks—funny, but try to forget that a minute. Just consider that here's a man who saw you by accident one evening and fell in love with you. He's not a bad sort of a chap. I mean that he isn't worse than the average man; has tried to live straight and clean. There's nothing against him on the score of birth and breeding, although his parlor tricks haven't been developed much. He has money enough to give you what you want and he will have a lot more. And he loves you—girl, you don't know how much! Now, dear, is it so absurd, after all?"
"I—I don't know what to say," murmured Prue, returning his look with a brief glance at once anxious and perplexed. "It's all so—so—strange!"
"Say 'yes,'" he answered boldly.
"But—but I can't!"
"Why?"
"Why, because—because I can't, I mustn't! I mean—"
"Never mind what you can't do or mustn't do! Will you?"
He leaned toward her and rested one band lightly on her folded ones. They moved restively, but, finding they were not to be imprisoned, made no effort to escape.
"Will you, Prue?" he urged pleadingly, softly. She tried to raise her eyes, tried to bring back the scoffing smile to her lips, but a panic held her. For the first time in such a situation she was afraid! Not of the man before her, not of herself, but of some power outside of them both that seemed to be drugging her into a state of resistlessness, a resistlessness that was the more perturbing because so strangely sweet! His hand pressed more closely on hers, and, "You won't?" he asked.
The tone of doubt broke for an instant the spell that held her. She shook her head.
There was silence for a moment. She wanted to get up and run away, but as long but as long as his hand lay there on hers she felt powerless to move. At last it slipped away slowly and she drew a sigh of relief. Her courage came back to her and she raised her eyes. He was not looking at her now, but sat leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped in an attitude of dejection, his frowning gaze fixed on the floor.
"You are sure?" he asked in a low voice.
She hesitated. Was she sure? The world seemed suddenly to have grown topsy-turvy and nothing was certain any more. But,
"Yes," she said quite distinctly.
He sat for a moment longer in silence. Then he threw back his shoulders and drew out his watch. She experienced a qualm of irritation that he could think of time at such a moment. The door opened and the agent entered. He smiled and bowed and went into his room. As he opened the door the click of the telegraph instrument came to them. Wade dropped his watch back into his pocket and looked at her with a grave smile.
"Well, I lose," he said. Their glances held a moment, hers curious, anxious, his searching, doubting. Then he arose.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, and went to the ticket window which had just been pushed up. Prue watched him as he stood there talking to the agent. Somehow, his defeat brought her no sense of triumph. She wondered why.
"The train for Sherbrooke seems to be late," said Wade.
"Yes, monsieur, I have just had news of her. She is leaving Levis more than an hour late. Undoubtedly the ferry causes the delay."
"And the other train, the one to Quebec?"
"On time, monsieur, absolutely on time, to the minute."
"Which will reach here first, do you think?"
"The train for the north. She has the right of way. She will pass the other at the next station above."
"Good," said Wade. He glanced at the clock. "Then she will be here in twenty minutes?"
"In twenty minutes, monsieur. I hope the lady has been comfortable, yes?"
"Quite, I believe. Let me have a ticket to Sherbrooke, please.
"At once, monsieur, this instant."
"I'm going to be able to catch the seven-thirty from Quebec, after all, I find," he said when he returned to her. "It is leaving Levis over an hour late; trouble with the ferry, the agent thinks. So your train, which is right on time, will get here first and I can see you on board. I'm glad not to have to spend the night here."
"Yes," she answered vaguely.
There seemed little to say after that. The giant with the red beard returned and smiled upon them broadly.
"The snow she stop," he announced cheerfully. "She get cold now."
Prue arose and walked to a window. Already the stars were peeping through the clouded sky.
"Couldn't we go out for a few minutes before the train comes?" she asked. "I'd like to get a breath of air. Will you be too cold?"
"Not a bit," he answered.
They went out on to the platform and found a sheltered corner. A little wind was blowing the clouds away fast, and between them the sky was blue-black and scintillant with frosty-white stars.
"This is Christmas Eve," he said.
"Why, yes," she replied. "I'd forgotten."
"I hope you'll have a very merry Christmas."
"And I hope you will, Mr. Forbes."
"Thank you." He smiled grimly in contemplation of it.
"You will get home in time for—for what? Dinner?"
"I'm afraid not," he said. "You see, I won't be able to get out of Sherbrooke until tomorrow evening. I guess my Christmas dinner will be eaten at the hotel. However, I shall do well enough. I wish though, that I'd thought to ask them to send my bag and coat down on that seven-thirty."
"Is it too late now?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm afraid so. It doesn't matter. I dare say I can buy some sort of a coat at Sherbrooke."
She was silent a minute. Then,
"I hate to think of you spending your Christmas there," she said troubledly. "I feel as though—I were to blame, you see."
"Not at all," he said cheerfully. "And I dare say I'll quite enjoy it. There must be something to see there; perhaps they've got a South African Monument."
"Just the same, I wish you were coming to Quebec."
"You wish—" He turned and tried to make out her face in the starlight.
From a distance came the whistle of the north-bound train.
"You'd be comfortable there," she went on hurriedly. "And I don't see—why my being in the same town need—annoy you."
"Annoy me!"
"Well—trouble you."
"It would, though. No, I've made enough of a nuisance of myself, Miss Burnett. About the only thing I can do to retrieve myself is to make my exit as gracefully as I can."
"But, don't you see, you're spoiling my holiday too? I feel as though I were depriving you of your visit to Quebec, Mr. Forbes."
"Why shouldn't you? You were the cause of my going. Why shouldn't you be the cause of my turning back? No, you mustn't feel that way about it. Quebec means no more to me than any other place except that it will hold you. And now—" He stopped.
The train whistled again and they heard the throbbing of it on the rails.
"But—if I ask you to come?"
The sound of the approaching train filled her with dismay.
"If you ask me to come," he said tensely, "it must be for just one reason."
There was a break in the little laugh she essayed.
"Oh, I don't care," she whispered recklessly. "Call it any reason you like. Only—please come!"
A light glimmered along the rails.
"Prue!" he whispered. He groped for her hands and found them awaiting him. "Is it true, dear?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" she answered between laughter and tears. "Don't you see it is? You thought you were the only one that—cared—from the first. But you weren't. I cared too, from the first time."
"Prue!"
"Yes, I did. You might as well know it. And I kept caring more. But I didn't know it—really, I didn't—until just now, in there. You see, you did win, after all!"
His arms went around her and she lifted her face frankly to his in the darkness. The words he murmured were lost in the roar of the train. A yellow radiance enfolded them and she drew back with a little gasp of dismay and caught the engineer's smile as he swept by, leaning from the window of the cab.
"All aboard for Quebec!"
On the way to the parlor car they met the giant, swinging under his load, seeking the day coach.
"She ver' good train," he called with merry smile. "She on time, madame! Bon soir! Bon soir, m'sieur!"
"Seats seven and eight, sir," said the conductor. "All right here!"
The train started. The conductor closed the vestibule doors and shot an interested 
"HIS ARMS WENT AROUND HER"
"I almost hate to leave it," whispered Prue.
"And I," he answered.
"It's a dear little place," she sighed happily. "St. Anselme. Do you know what Anselme means, sir?"
"It means happiness to me, Sweetheart."
"It means the protection of God. Doesn't that seem like a good omen—Wade?"
"Yes, dear," he answered devoutly.
Presently she drew away from him and smoothed her hair under the absurd felt hat, laughing softly.
"Now," she said, "we must get ready to face Auntie!"
"And I," he said, "must write a telegram."
"A telegram?"
"To Dave."
"Oh! And what are you going to say?"
"I'm going to say: 'Look for water pitcher. Address, Chateau Frontenac, Quebec. Merry Christmas. Wade and Prue.'"
