The smile left Sidwell's face. "One can start a back-fire on the prairie," he said reflectively. "I fancy the same process might work successfully with Blair also."
"Perhaps," admitted Florence. The time came when both she and Sidwell remembered that suggestion.
But the subject was too large to be dropped immediately.
"Something tells me," Sidwell added, after a moment, "that you are a bit fearful of this Blair. Did the gentleman ever attempt to kidnap you--or anything?"
Florence did not smile. "No," she answered.
"What was it, then? Were you in love, and he cold--or the reverse?"
Florence dropped her chin into her hands. "To be frank with you, it was--the reverse; but I would rather not speak of it." She was silent for a moment. "You are right, though," she continued, rather recklessly, "when you say I'm afraid of him. I don't dare think of him, even. I want to forget he was ever a part of my life. He overwhelms me like sleep when I'm tired. I am helpless."
Unconsciously Sidwell had stumbled upon the closet which held the skeleton. "And I--" he queried, "are you afraid of me?"
The girl's great brown eyes peered out above her hands steadily.
"No; with us it is not of you I'm afraid--it's of myself." She arose slowly. "I'm ready to go driving if you wish," she said.