The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-01-15
CHAPTER X

Several weeks had passed, the snow had long since melted, the men were back once more at work on Bret's bridge, and Connie was now an integral part of her sur roundings.
 Each morning Bret called for her to drive the three miles to the camp; each evening drove her back. Connie loved the excite ment and hustle, the mule teams with their burly drivers, the husky mountaineers with their sturdy muscles and soft drawling talk, the whistle of the freight train, un- loading steel and materials, the log-cabin office with its old-fash- toned wood stove. Pop Walters with his shining gray hair and in- invariable package of snuff. Most of all she loved the sense of being part of the job, the feeling that she, too, was helping to build things" to create. She could un- derstand Bret's enthusiasm, why he felt that this was his work.
 She marveled now at the girl who had laid in the big Marie Antoinette bed, missing all the fresh loveliness of early morning, not caring enough about anything to want to get up, bored with life, sick of the endless round of social activity. That girl, this new Katie Blyn felt, had been a "softie"; she had never really lived at all. There had been so little justification for her existence
 Of course there was a reason for these conclusions, for this feel ing of being so alive, so deliriously happy. The old-age reason that is always the same whether 8 girl be the Coloneps Lady or Judy O'Grady, the richest girl in the world, or plain Katie Blyn. For the whole world takes on new meaning when a girl loses her heart to a man.
 Connie was not sure just when she had fallen in love with Bret Hardesty. It might have been that first moment when he had handed her her glasses and she had looked into his dark eyes. Or perhaps it had happened when he had tackled the bandit in the bus, and she had been afraid for him. Again this miracle may have taken place during that long night, driv- irg over the mountains, sharing its beauty and silence.
 It did not matter. All she knew was that he was the man she loved. The only one she ever had loved. The only one she would ever love.
 She was glad that she had met him while she was Katie Blyn. Bret would never have looked at her, let alone offered to help her, brought her into his own country, given her work, accepted her as companion and friend, had she been the beautiful, spoiled heiress to $7o,0o0,0O0
 Hadn't he said that he knew he would not like that sort of girl? That he would have no use for her at all!
 He liked Katie Blyn, Connie was confident of that. He had told her she was a gallant lady, a good little sport. If he fell in love with her it would be because of thingeS like that, because of herself It would have nothing to do with dollars and cents.
 If he fell in love with her .
 "All that women think of is Bret had said.
 But Connie had predicted that the day would come when he would find time to think of TO- nance too. She saw the first signs, A new look in his dark eyes when they met hers, the way he helped her over rough places, as though she were something fragile and precious. The grim set of his nice mouth that day when one of the men had spoken roughly to her over difference as to the number of loads he had in. The flush of deep crimson stealing up into his face at sight of Tim Randy, the state policeman, pompous and important in his handsome uniform, hanging about Comics desk and trying to make a date"
 Oh, yes, Connie saw all the signs = and her heart quickened. her own blue eyes grew brighter, her pulses raced,
 There was only one flaw in this happiness, one person who had refused to accept Connie as one of them, make her "at home; Eloise with her flaming hair, worn in coronet of thick braids, her ret icent manner, her eyes, watchful and wounded. For EloiSe, too, saw these signs in Bret, recognized them.
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