"
"Two," she acknowledged, and now he noticed that with the dissolution of
tears a flush of color was returning into her cheeks.
"And those--"
"One it is impossible for you to know; the other, if I tell you, will
make you despise me. I am sure of that."
"It has to do with John Graham?"
She bowed her head. "Yes, with John Graham."
For the first time long lashes hid her eyes from him, and for a moment
it seemed that her resolution was gone and she stood stricken by the
import of the thing that lay behind his question; yet her cheeks flamed
red instead of paling, and when she looked at him again, her eyes burned
with a lustrous fire.
"John Graham," she repeated. "The man you hate and want to kill."
Slowly he turned toward the door. "I am leaving immediately after dinner
to inspect the herds up in the foothills," he said. "And you--_are
welcome here_."
He caught the swift intake of her breath as he paused for an instant at
the door, and saw the new light that leaped into her eyes.
"Thank you, Alan Holt," she cried softly, "_Oh, I thank you!_!"
And then, suddenly, she stopped him with a little cry, as if at last
something had broken away from her control. He faced her, and for a
moment they stood in silence.
"I'm sorry--sorry I said to you what I did that night on the _Nome_,"
she said.
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