then, standing in the shadows, he simply watched her. With the eye of an artist he delighted in her gestures, her rippling enthusiasm, her utter, irrepressible girlishness that all of Time had not years enough to kill.
He decided that she had gray eyes. Gray eyes seemed to be characteristic of the mountain people. Sometimes, when the shadows fell across them, they looked very dark, as if the pines had been reflected in them all day and the image had not yet faded out. But in an instant the shadow flicked away and left only light,—light that danced and light that laughed and light that went into him and did all manner of things to his spirit.
Bill stood watching her, his hands deep in his pockets, evidently a companion of the best. Her father gazed at her with amused tolerance. And Dan,—he did n't know in just what way he did look at her. And he did n't have time to decide. In less than fifteen minutes, and wholly without warning, she sprang up from her chair and started toward the door.
"Good Lord!" Dan breathed. "If you make such sudden motions as that I 'll have heart failure. Where are you going now?"
"Back to my watch," she answered, her tone wholly lacking the personal note which men have learned to expect in the voices of women.
