"No--we women are alone to-day. There isn't a man on the place, except
Looey Sam, and he doesn't count."
Dorman squirmed around till he could look at the two, and his eyebrows
were tied in a knot. "I wish, Be'trice, you wouldn't talk, 'less you
whisper. De fishes won't bite a bit."
"All right, honey--we won't."
Dorman turned back to his fishing with a long breath of relief. His
divinity never broke a promise, if she could help it.
If Dorman Hayes had been Cupid himself, he could not have hit upon a
more impish arrangement than that. To place a girl like Beatrice beside
a fellow like Keith--a fellow who is tall, and browned, and extremely
good-looking, and who has hazel eyes with a laugh in them always--a
fellow, moreover, who is very much in love and very much in earnest
about it--and condemn him to silence, or to whispers!
Keith took advantage of the edict, and moved closer, so that he could
whisper in comfort--and be nearer his Heart's Desire. He lay with his
head propped upon his hand, and his elbow digging into the sod and
getting grass-stains on his shirt sleeve, for the day was too warm for a
coat. Beatrice, looking down at him, observed that his forearm, between
his glove and wrist-band, was as white and smooth as her own. It is
characteristic of a cowboy to have a face brown as an Indian, and hands
girlishly white and soft.
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