Nor had the man made any attempt at response. She was sure of it, because she had watched his firm lips, and they had not moved. Perhaps he had found retort impossible. It was quite possible, for the other had not paused a moment in her tirade. What a flow. It was colossal, stupendous. Joan felt sorry for the man.
What a patience he had. Nor had his expression once altered. He merely displayed the thoughtful attention that one might bestow, listening to a brilliant conversationalist or an interesting story. It was too ridiculous, and Joan began to laugh.
Then the end came abruptly and without warning. Mrs. Ransford just swung about and trotted furiously back to the house. Her face was flaming, and her fat arms, flourishing like unlimber flails, were pointing every verbal threat she hurled over her shoulder at the spot where the man had stood. Yes, he had vanished again round the corner of the barn, and the poor woman's best efforts were quite lost upon the warm summer air.
But her purpose was obvious, and Joan prepared herself for a whirlwind visitation. Nor had she long to wait. There was a shuffling of feet out in the passage, and, the next moment, the door of her room was unceremoniously flung open and the indignant woman staggered in.
"Well, of all the impidence, of all the sass, of all the ignorant bums that ever I----!" She exploded, and stood panting under the strain of her furious emotions.
But Joan felt she really must assert herself. This sort of reign of terror must not go on.
"Don't fluster yourself, Mrs. Ransford," she said calmly. "I'll see to the matter myself."
But she might as well have attempted to stem the tide of the river that had wrecked her journey as stay the irate woman's tongue.
"But it's him!" she cried. "Him, that low-down scallawag that carried you in his arms an' walked right into this yere bedroom an' laid you on your own virgin bed without no by your leave nor nuthin'. Him, as saw your trunks drownded an' you all mussed up with water, without raisin' a hand to help, 'less it was to push you further under----"
But Joan was equal to no more. She pushed the well-meaning creature on one side and hurried out of the house, while the echoes of the other's scathing indictment died down behind her.
Joan did not hesitate. It was not her way to hesitate about anything when her mind was made up. And just now she was determined to find out the real story of what had happened to her. She was interested. This man had carried her. He had brought her trunks up. And--yes, she liked the look of him.