"I don't care what he bought the ranch for!" Jean cried. "And he's not a white man. He's a sneak. He deceived me. He said his remittance had stopped. He let me make a fool of myself advising him to homestead and get a place of his own, and work hard, so that—so that—"
"So that you could be married!" Angus chuckled.
"Ye—yes," Jean confessed, and her brother roared. "Oh, you think it funny, do you? Well, he won't. I never want to see him. I won't see him."
"But, Jean dear, listen," Faith put in, for she saw that to Jean there was nothing humorous in the situation. The girl was deeply offended, bitterly angry.
"I don't want to listen," Jean snapped. "I don't want to be rude, Faith, but he—he lied to me. He led me to believe that he was poor, that he hadn't a dollar. He was playing with me, amusing himself, laughing at me when I was—oh, I can't talk about it!"
"Oh, shucks, old girl!" said Angus. "You're going into the air about nothing. You ought to be glad he isn't broke."
"Ought I?" Jean retorted. "Well, I'm not. He wasn't straight with me, he wasn't fair. He talked about a little cottage, and wanted me to marry him right away, and—and—"
"And share his poverty," Angus grinned. "Weren't you game, sis?"
"Angus!" Faith warned. But Jean's cheeks flamed.
"No, I wasn't," she replied bitterly. "I told him he would have to make good first, if you want to know, not because I didn't love him, poor as I thought he was, but because I thought it would make him work in earnest. Can you understand that, Angus Mackay? Do you think, after telling him that, I'd marry him now that he has money? I'd rather die! And—and I half believe I want to."