She was about to separate him from the baneful and pernicious life
of the camps--to tender him a gift of unutterable happiness--to give
all of him back to the work of the great railroad.
She put a trembling hand on his shoulder--bent over him. "Neale--
come with me," she whispered.
He shook his head.
"Yes! Yes!" she returned, her voice thrilling with emotion.
Wearily, with patient annoyance, he laid down his cards and looked
up. His dark eyes held faint surprise and something that she thought
might be pity.
"Miss Stanton--pardon me--but please understand--No!"
Then he turned and, picking up his cards, resumed the game.
Beauty Stanton suffered a sudden vague check. It was as if a cold
thought was trying to enter a warm and glowing mind. She found
speech difficult. She could not get off the track of her emotional
flight. Her woman's wit, tact, knowledge of men, would not operate.
"Neale! ... Come with--me!" she cried, brokenly. "There's--"
Some men laughed coarsely. That did not mean anything to Stanton
until she saw how it affected Neale. His face flushed red and his
hands clenched the cards.
"Say, Neale," spoke up this brutal gamester, with a sneer, "never
mind us. Go along with your lady friend ... You're ahead of the
game--as I reckon she sees.
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