Aunt Ellen bent over her, and smoothed the coppery-brown hair.
"I didn't know," she said, gently; "I didn't know--that. Who was it,
dear?"
When Mrs. Octavia Beaupree, nee Van Dresser, stepped from the train at
Nopal, her manner lost, for the moment, some of that easy certitude
which had always marked her movements. The town was of recent
establishment, and seemed to have been hastily constructed of undressed
lumber and flapping canvas. The element that had congregated about the
station, though not offensively demonstrative, was clearly composed of
citizens accustomed to and prepared for rude alarms.
Octavia stood on the platform, against the telegraph office, and
attempted to choose by intuition from the swaggering, straggling
string, of loungers the manager of the Rancho de las Sombras, who
had been instructed by Mr. Bannister to meet her there. That tall,
serious, looking, elderly man in the blue flannel shirt and white tie
she thought must be he. But, no; he passed by, removing his gaze from
the lady as hers rested on him, according to the Southern custom. The
manager, she thought, with some impatience at being kept waiting,
should have no difficulty in selecting her. Young women wearing the
most recent thing in ash-coloured travelling suits were not so
plentiful in Nopal!
Thus keeping a speculative watch on all persons of possible managerial
aspect, Octavia, with a catching breath and a start of surprise,
suddenly became aware of Teddy Westlake hurrying along the platform in
the direction of the train--of Teddy Westlake or his sun-browned
ghost in cheviot, boots and leather-girdled hat--Theodore Westlake,
Jr.
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