"Yes, Dad--it's--it's true," she answered, haltingly.
"Wal, you didn't need to tell me, but I'm glad you did."
Bostil meant to ask her then if she in any sense returned the rider's love,
but unaccountably he could not put the question. The girl was as true as
ever--as good as gold. Bostil feared a secret that might hurt him. Just as
sure as life was there and death but a step away, some rider, sooner or later,
would win this girl's love. Bostil knew that, hated it, feared it. Yet he
would never give his girl to a beggarly rider. Such a man as Wetherby ought to
win Lucy's hand. And Bostil did not want to know too much at present; he did
not want his swift-mounting animosity roused so soon. Still he was curious,
and, wanting to get the drift of Lucy's mind, he took to his old habit of
teasing.
"Another moonstruck rider!" he said. "Your eyes are sure full moons, Lucy. I'd
be ashamed to trifle with these poor fellers."
"Dad!"
"You're a heartless flirt--same as your mother was before she met ME."
"I'm not.
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