"Yes. From Richey McKnight," I assented. Was it any wonder
McKnight was crazy about her? I dug my heels into the dust.

"I have been visiting near Cresson, in the mountains," Miss West
was saying. "The person you mentioned, Mrs. Curtis, was my hostess.
We--we were on our way to Washington together." She spoke slowly,
as if she wished to give the minimum of explanation. Across her
face had come again the baffling expression of perplexity and
trouble I had seen before.

"You were on your way home, I suppose? Richey spoke about seeing
you," I floundered, finding it necessary to say something. She
looked at me with level, direct eyes.

"No," she returned quietly. "I did not intend to go home. I--well,
it doesn't matter; I am going home now."

A woman in a calico dress, with two children, each an exact duplicate
of the other, had come quickly down the road. She took in the
situation at a glance, and was explosively hospitable.

"You poor things," she said. "If you'll take the first road to the
left over there, and turn in at the second pigsty, you will find
breakfast on the table and a coffee-pot on the stove. And there's
plenty of soap and water, too. Don't say one word. There isn't a
soul there to see you."

We accepted the invitation and she hurried on toward the excitement
and the railroad. I got up carefully and helped Miss West to her
feet.