Demonstrations of this nature were infrequent with Glenn.
Despite losing one foot out of a stirrup and her seat in the saddle Carley
rather encouraged it. He kissed her dusty face, and then set her back.
"By George! Carley, sometimes I think you've changed since you've been
here," he said, with warmth. "To go through that sandstorm without one
kick--one knock at my West!"
"Glenn, I always think of what Flo says--the worst is yet to come," replied
Carley, trying to hide her unreasonable and tumultuous pleasure at words of
praise from him.
"Carley Burch, you don't know yourself," he declared, enigmatically.
"What woman knows herself? But do you know me?"
"Not I. Yet sometimes I see depths in you--wonderful possibilities--
submerged under your poise--under your fixed, complacent idle attitude
toward life."
This seemed for Carley to be dangerously skating near thin ice, but she
could not resist a retort:
"Depths in me? Why I am a shallow, transparent stream like your West Fork!
. . . And as for possibilities--may I ask what of them you imagine you see?"
"As a girl, before you were claimed by the world, you were earnest at
heart. You had big hopes and dreams. And you had intellect, too.
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