I was foolish enough to regret going by without chance of a word with Beryl, great as was my haste.

I had not seen her since that day Frosty and I had ridden into their picnic--though I made efforts enough, the Lord knows--and I was not at all happy over my many failures.
Whether it was good luck or bad, I saw her rise up from a hammock on the porch as we went by--for, as I said before, King's house was much closer to the trail than was decent; I could have leaned from the saddle and touched her with my quirt.
"Mr.Carleton"-- I was fool enough to gloat over her instant recognition, in the dark like that--"what are you doing here--at this hour?
Don't you know the risk?
And your promise--" She spoke in an undertone, as if she were afraid of being overheard--which I don't doubt she was.
But if she had been a Delilah she couldn't have betrayed me more completely.

Frosty motioned imperatively for me to go on, but I had pulled up at her first word, and there I stood, waiting for her to finish, that I might explain that I had not lightly broken my promise; that I was compelled to cut off that extra sixty miles which would have made me, perhaps, too late.

But I didn't tell her anything; there wasn't time.
Frosty, waiting disapprovingly a length ahead, looked back and beckoned again insistently.

At the same instant a door behind the girl opened with a jerk, and King himself bulked large and angry in the lamplight.