Later Casey, having stabled the horses, came up with McCrae. "Well, Sheila, what's the good word?" he asked. "What yarns have you been telling Miss Burnaby?"
"I was telling her of your poultry system."
"Miss McCrae has been suggesting all sorts of things for our amusement," said Clyde; "from a dance to riding lessons."
"I didn't say a word about lessons," Sheila protested.
"But I need them," Clyde admitted. "I never pretend to know what I don't know."
"Sheila can give most men lessons," said Casey. "The only objection I have is that I intended to instruct you myself."
Clyde laughed. "Which offer shall I accept?"
"Casey's," said Sheila promptly. "I won't be selfish. Besides, educational statistics prove that we women imbibe knowledge faster from men than from each other."
Clyde darted a swift glance at her. But Sheila's face told nothing. If the words were intended to bear an added meaning she did not show it.
"Statistics are good for something, at last," said Casey.
"Give her Dolly," said Sheila. "Don't let her coax you into letting her try that old brute, Shiner. He's almost an outlaw."
The quotation seemed careless. Sheila's face told Clyde nothing.
"'Like master, like horse' is more appropriate," said Sheila.
"Oh, I'm not an outlaw--yet," he said, with just the slightest pause before the word.
Slight though it was, Clyde noticed it; noticed, too, the instant shadow on Sheila's face, the quick contraction of her dark brows, the momentary silence, transient but utter. It was as if the chill and gloom of night had suddenly struck the summer's noonday.
But in a moment the conversation was resumed, and became general. Sandy McCrae joined them, silent as usual, but evidently attracted by Clyde. Presently Sheila took Casey to diagnose the case of a favourite, sick collie.
"My heavens, Casey, did you see the kid?" she asked. "I never knew him to look twice at a girl before."
"Every boy has to start some time," he laughed. "She's well worth looking at."
"That's so. Yes, she's very pretty, Casey."
It was on the tip of her tongue to disclaim, but she checked herself. "She's different from what I expected. No airs. And she _looks_ sensible. Is she?"
"Yes, I think so, too. She dresses very simply. I was prepared to be reduced to a condition of helpless feminine envy by her clothes. As it is, I feel quite of the same clay."