The editor started and
turned quickly towards the open door. Two outside steps led to the
ground. Standing upon the lower one was a woman. The upper part of her
figure, illuminated by the light from the door, was thrown into greater
relief by the dark background of the pines. Her face was unknown to
him, but it was a pleasant one, marked by a certain good-humored
determination.
"May I come in?" she said confidently.
"Certainly," said the editor. "I am working here alone because it is
so quiet." He thought he would precipitate some explanation from her by
excusing himself.
"That's the reason why I came," she said, with a quiet smile.
She came up the next step and entered the room. She was plainly but
neatly dressed, and now that her figure was revealed he saw that she was
wearing a linsey-woolsey riding-skirt, and carried a serviceable rawhide
whip in her cotton-gauntleted hand. She took the chair he offered her
and sat down sideways on it, her whip hand now also holding up her
skirt, and permitting a hem of clean white petticoat and a smart,
well-shaped boot to be seen.
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