She seemed under
an influence which subdued yet excited her as might some subtle drug.
Her normally calm, frank eyes were heavy and mysterious with a drowsy
languor. Her tall, vibrant figure likewise seemed to droop drowsily,
the budding lines of her body tremulous with young life and womanhood.
Her hands hung languidly upon the saddle horn. Only her rich young
lips were firm and straight, as if her mind and will power were
fighting resolutely against the desire to yield to the subtle influence
which was steeping her through and through.
"Are you fencing off Flower Prairie--that garden of dreams come true?"
she said with a careless laugh.
"Yes," said Payne, "but I'm going to put a gate in there."
"Kind of him, isn't it?" said Mrs. Livingstone, turning to Garman with
the empty, affected laugh of her kind. "Shall we be permitted to
continue our rides to Flower Prairie? Are persons permitted to place
such obstructions in such places?"
Garman smoothed his tawny mustache, playfully bowing to her, as if
loathe to interrupt with a reply.
Payne was breathing hard.
"Yes; they are," he said hoarsely, and checked himself.
"Ye-es," purred Garman. "If they own the land."
Payne turned on him.
"Where's Willy Tiger?" he snapped out. "What did you do to him?"
"Come, Annette," said Mrs.
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