A moment, and a clear, girlish voice
called from among the trees that bordered the cienaga, "Whoo-ee." It was
the signal that Sibyl always gave when she approached their camp.
James Rutlidge broke into a low laugh while Sibyl's friends looked at each
other in angry consternation as the girl, following her hail and
accompanied by the delighted dog, appeared in full view; her fishing-rod
in hand, her creel swung over her shoulder.
The girl's embarrassment, when, too late, she saw and recognized their
visitor, was pitiful. As she came slowly forward, too confused to retreat,
Rutlidge started to laugh again, but Aaron King, with an emphasis that
checked the man's mirth, said in a low tone, "Stop that! Be careful!"
As he spoke, the artist arose and with Conrad Lagrange went forward to
greet Sibyl in--as nearly as they could--their customary manner.
Formally, Rutlidge was presented to the girl; and, under the threatening
eyes of the painter, greeted her with no hint of rudeness in his voice or
manner; saying courteously, with a smile, "I have had the pleasure of Miss
Andres' acquaintance for--let me see--three years now, is it not?" he
appealed to her directly.
"It was three years ago that I first saw you, sir," she returned coolly.
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