“And now,” she said, replacing it on another finger, “Cousin Kirk,
let me introduce to you the gentleman to whom I am to be married--Mr.
Higginbotham, of Boston.”
“Salem,” I corrected, in a dazed way.
“Of Salem. Cousin Kirk--congratulate him.”
Cousin Kirk looked at her, at me, and at the board fence.
“As a gentleman, sir, I have no other thing to do. Of course--if my
cousin loves you--you may keep the ring. Though I must allow, sir, you
shoot rather late.”
With this one simple sarcasm he departed. Jeanie and I watched him
groping in the long grass of the next lot for his revolver and then go
slouching down the road. We turned and our eyes met. I tried to take
her hand; but suddenly her face grew scarlet. “Oh, what have I done?”
and she rushed into the house.