Mollie puckered her brows thoughtfully. She was fond of Johnny and they were engaged, but all the same she had the very human quality of disliking orders, and Johnny's voice smacked of command.
“I thought he was entertaining, and that he had nice table manners,” she said.
“Well, I didn't notice 'em if he had. I hate these smart geezers!”
“He was awful polite, Johnny.” She wished Johnny to be fair to the stranger; at the same time she felt affronted by his foolish jealousy.
“Fresh,” said Johnny, “if you call that being polite.”
No more was said then, but somehow when they walked up the trail there was this between them, and they walked farther apart than usual. They were silent, too, a good deal of the time. Moreover it was a short walk; but before they reached the hotel Johnny had returned to the vexed subject of Mr. Bunny and the treatment Mollie was to accord him.
“Mollie, you are not going to talk to that fellow any more, are you?”
“Certainly I shall talk to him. I am not going to be impolite just because you are,” rejoined Mollie, with a little toss of her head.
Johnny flushed hotly, then the color faded from his face.
“All right then, if you'd rather talk to him than me, you can, but I won't be here to listen to it—I can tell you that!”
They had reached the door by this time, and Mollie, holding her chin very high, said coldly:
“Good night, Mr. Severance,—I think I must go in. Thank you for your company.”
“Good night, Miss Ferguson,” and turned away, while Mollie went up to her room with burning cheeks and smarting eyes.
But it was not until she was safe in bed that she shed a few surreptitious tears.
“He might have known... that I care more for his little finger—than for all the Mr. Bunnys in the world!” she whispered tremulously to herself under cover of the friendly darkness.
Mr. Bunny, for reasons of his own, remained in Sunset. He discovered that M. Ferguson desired to introduce water on her premises. She designed to have flowers, a kitchen garden and grass. This involved a half-mile of ditch. He let it be known that for a proper consideration he might be induced to betake himself to ditching, though he also let it be known that this was a pursuit he should never look back upon with any feeling even remotely approaching pride. He further gave M. Ferguson to understand that he had recently lifted a mortgage on his widowed mother's quarter-section back in Nebraska. This had taken his last cent. He drove a much better bargain in consequence, did artless Mr. Bunny.