“Oh, I would rather not,” Hope faltered, bewildered by this unexpected request, already half-tempted to break away and run. “Really I--I don't want to go there.”
Hawley was evidently surprised at this refusal, naturally supposing from her life that Miss Maclaire's scruples would be easily overcome. This obstinacy of the girl aroused his anger.
“You women beat the devil,” he ejaculated, gruffly, “pretending to be so damn particular. Maybe you'd rather stand out there on the prairie and talk?” with a sweep of his hand around the horizon.
“Yes, I would,” catching desperately at the straw. “I'm not afraid of you; I'm not blaming you at all, only I--I don't want to go to 'Sheeny Joe's.'”
He looked at her, puzzled at her attitude, and yet somewhat reassured by her expression of confidence. Oh, well, what was the difference? It might be better to let her have her own way, and the change would not materially interfere with his plans. Of course, it would be pleasanter sitting together at one of Joe's tables, but he could talk just as freely out yonder under the stars. Besides, it might be as well now to humor the girl.
“All right, Christie,” his voice regaining its pleasant tone. “You shall have your way this time. There is too much at stake for us to quarrel over this.”
Frightened, yet not daring to resist or exhibit the least reluctance, she clung to his arm, and permitted him to lead her to the right down a dark passage and out into the open land beyond. He had to feel his way carefully, and scarcely spoke, yet proceeded as though the passage was reasonably familiar and he had some definite point in view. She answered in monosyllables, now thoroughly regretful of having permitted herself to drift into this position, yet not in the least knowing how to extricate herself. Hawley took everything for granted, her very silence convincing him of her acquiescence. With throbbing pulse, Hope felt the small revolver hidden within her dress, undoing a button so that, in emergency, she might grasp it more quickly. Hawley felt the movement, the trembling of her arm.
“You are afraid, just the same,” he said, pressing her to him lover-like. “Darkness always gets on a woman's nerves.”
“Yes, that and loneliness,” resenting his familiarity.