And indeed she was not sparing in her smiles. Red Jim Perris pleased
her, and she was not afraid to show it. To be sure, she talked of the
business before them, but she talked of it only in scattered phrases.
Other topics drew her away. A score of little side-issues carried her
away. And Jim Perris was glad of the diversions.
For the only thing which he disliked in her, the only thing which
repelled him time and again, was this eagerness of hers to have the
chestnut stallion killed. She spoke of Alcatraz with a consuming
hatred. And Perris was a little horrified. He knew that Alcatraz
had stolen away the six mares, and Marianne explained briefly
and eloquently how much the return of those mares meant to her
self-respect and to the financial soundness of the ranch. But this,
after all, was a small excuse for an ugly passion. If he could have
known that with her own eyes she had seen the chestnut crush Cordova
to shapelessness and almost to death, the mystery might have been
cleared. But Marianne could not refer to that terrible memory. All she
could say was that Alcatraz must be killed--at once! And she said it
with her eyes on fire with detestation.
Indeed, that touch of angry passion in her was the flower of Hermes to
Red Jim, keeping him from complete infatuation when she sang to him,
playing her own lightly-touched accompaniment at the piano.
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