She'd
only have to say that she don't think as much of me as I think she
ought to. And, then----"
"She'll keep pretty silent about that, I think," interrupted Owen,
grinning at the girl's crimson face.
"I wouldn't be takin' your word for it," grinned Sanderson, "it
wouldn't be reliable."
"Why--" began Mary, and looked at Owen.
"Sure," he laughed, "I'll go and take a walk. There are times when
three can't explain a thing as well as two."
There was a silence following Owen's departure.
Then Mary looked shyly at Sanderson, who was watching her with a smile.
"Does it need any explaining?" she began. "Can't you see that----"
"Shucks, little girl," he said gently, as he leaned toward her, "words
ain't--well, words ain't so awful important, are they?"
Apparently words were not important. For within the next few minutes
there were few spoken. And progress was made without them. And then:
"I believe I never was so happy as when I saw you, that morning, coming
in to Okar with Dale's body, and you said you had not killed him.
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