But I want to make you understand that I am not
the kind of woman you take me to be--that I am not being made a fool of
by Neal Taggart--or by any man!"
Calumet did not reply; the effect of this passionate defense of herself
on him was deep and poignant, and words would not come to his lips.
Truth had spoken to him--he knew it. At a stroke she had subdued him,
humbled him. It was as though a light had suddenly been turned on him,
showing him the mean, despicable side of him, contrasting it with the
little good which had come into being--good which had been placed
there, fostered, and cultivated into promise. Then the light had been
as suddenly turned off, leaving him with a gnawing, impotent longing to
be what she wanted him to be. Involuntarily, he took his hat off to
her and bowed respectfully. Then he reached a swift hand into an inner
pocket of his vest and withdrew it, holding out a paper to her. She
took it and looked wonderingly at it. It was the diagram of the
clearing in the timber clump showing where the idol was buried.
Her face paled, for she knew that his action in restoring the diagram
to her was his tribute to her honesty, an evidence of his trust in her,
despite his uttered suspicions. Also, it was his surrender.
She looked up, intending to thank him. He was walking away, and did
not look around at her call.
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