They left him by his weak little fountain, a sad but hopeful figure.
“Poor fellow,” the girl remarked, as she stepped on the gas. “The pioneer has a hard time of it.”
Eden did not speak for a moment. “I’m an observing little chap, aren’t I?” he said at last.
“What do you mean?”
“That ring. I never noticed it. Engaged, I suppose?”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to marry some movie actor who carries a vanity case.”
“You should know me better than that.”
“I do, of course. But describe this lucky lad. What’s he like?”
“He likes me.”
“Naturally.” Eden lapsed into silence.
“Not angry, are you?” asked the girl.
“Not angry,” he grinned, “but terribly, terribly hurt. I perceive you don’t want to talk about the matter.”
“Well—some incidents in my life I really should keep to myself. On such short acquaintance.”
“As you wish,” agreed Eden. The car sped on. “Lady,” he said presently, “I’ve known this desert country, man and boy, going on twenty-four hours. And believe me when I tell you, miss, it’s a cruel land—a cruel land.”
They climbed the road that lay between the two piles of brown rock pretending to be mountains, and before them lay Eldorado, huddled about the little red station. The town looked tiny and helpless and forlorn. As they alighted before the Desert Edge Hotel, Eden said:
“When shall I see you again?”
