"I could not very well help it--it would have been rude
to interrupt a conversation." Her eyes sparkled mischievously
and her cheeks dimpled.
"You wouldn't have been interrupting a conversation,"
objected Bridge, smiling; "you would have been turning a
monologue into a conversation."
"But it was a conversation," insisted the girl. "The
wanderer was conversing with the bookkeeper. You are a victim of
wanderlust, Mr. L. Bridge--don't deny it. You hate bookkeeping,
or any other such prosaic vocation as requires permanent
residence in one place."
"Come now," expostulated the man. "That is hardly fair.
Haven't I been here a whole week?"
They both laughed.
"What in the world can have induced you to remain so
long?" cried Barbara. "How very much like an old timer you
must feel--one of the oldest inhabitants."
"I am a regular aborigine," declared Bridge; but his heart
would have chosen another reply. It would have been glad to
tell the girl that there was a very real and a very growing
inducement to remain at El Orobo Rancho. The man was too
self-controlled, however, to give way to the impulses of his
heart.
At first he had just liked the girl, and been immensely glad
of her companionship because there was so much that was
common to them both--a love for good music, good pictures,
and good literature--things Bridge hadn't had an opportunity
to discuss with another for a long, long time.
Pages:
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426