She had seen him ride away, too, Mr. O'Mara. And I
learned it then, just from the terror in her face. But I didn't know
until later how much she cared.
"She came into my room this morning, and that, although you can't know
it, was more than odd in itself, because I have always been the one to
carry my woes to her. It must have been between four and five, for I
had counted a clock striking four; and yet she was still dressed in her
party costume. Have you guessed what she had been doing? Mr. O'Mara,
she had been out looking for him! She had slipped out and been waiting
because she was sure Ragtime would bolt and--and come back home,
dragging him by a stirrup! Wasn't that a horrible thing to wait for,
alone in the dark?"
With a little shudder the girl put her hands over her eyes, as if to
shut out the picture.
"She wasn't hysterical, either. She was--just--ice! And wringing wet
and blue with cold. Cool, proud, intolerant Miriam Burrell--and I'd
never dreamed of her caring for anybody, until that minute. I sent her
to bed and I think I hated Garry Devereau for an hour or two. Why, Mr.
O'Mara, I'd never believed that a girl could care that much for any
man!"
He stopped toying with a handful of dry twigs and let them slip away
between his fingers. She saw his head come up; saw his eyes narrow.
Then her own body stiffened as she realized what she had said.
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