He was certain
that it was not a whim that had brought her into the north. It was
impossible for him to believe that he had piqued at her vanity
until she had leaped into action, as she had suggested to him
while they were sitting before the fire. Could it be that she had
accompanied her father because he--Philip Whittemore--was in the
north?
The thought drew a slow flush into his face, and his uneasiness
increased when he knew that she was looking at him. He was glad
when it came time for cigars, and Eileen excused herself. He
opened the door for her, and told her that he probably would not
see her again until morning, as he had an important engagement for
the evening. She gave him her hand, and for a moment he felt the
clinging of her fingers about his own.
"Good night," she whispered.
"Good night."
She drew her hand half away, and then, suddenly, raised her eyes
straight to his own. They were calm, quiet, beautiful, and yet
there came a quick little catch in her throat as she leaned so
close to him that she touched his breast, and said:
"It will be best--best for everything--everybody--if you can
influence father to stay at Fort Churchill."
She did not wait for him to reply, but hurried toward her room.
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