"Yes; if he _is_ a cowboy."
"And you took money from him?"
Her elbows rested on the arm of her chair; the tip of her chin on the
back of her bent fingers. Without taking her eyes from his she inclined
her head slowly in assent.
"That is," he hastened to say, in some compunction, "your father took
it. We must keep the distinction--"
"No; I took it. Papa was all ready to decline it. He had made up his
mind--"
"Do you mean that the decision to accept it rested with you?"
"Practically."
"You didn't--" He hesitated, stammered, and grew red. "You didn't--" he
began again. "You'll have to excuse the question.... I simply _must_
know, by Jove!... You didn't _ask_ him for it?"
She rose with dignity. "If you'll come in I'll tell you about it. We
can't talk out here."
He came up the portico steps to the level on which she was standing.
"Tell me that first," he begged.
"You _didn't_ ask him for it? Did you?"
In the French window, as she was about to enter the room, she half
turned round. "I don't think it would bear that construction; but it
might. I'd rather you judged for yourself. I declined it at first--and
then I said I'd take it. I don't know whether you'd call that asking.
But please come in."
He followed her into the oval room, where they were screened from
neighborly observation, while, with the French window open, they had the
advantage of the air and the rich, westering sunshine. Birds hopped
about in the trees, and now and then a gray squirrel darted across the
grass.
"I should think," he said, nervously, before she had time to begin her
explanation, "that a fellow who had done that for you would occupy your
mind to the exclusion of everybody else."
Guessing that he hoped for a disclaimer on her part, she was sorry to be
unable to make it.
"Not to their exclusion--but perhaps--a little to their subordination."