"So was me poor b'ys that's gone," Mrs. Foley sighed. "They was that healthy it hurt 'em. Health makes f'r divilmint, an' divilmint shortens a man's days. I'm tellin' ye, ut's th' scrawny little divils that ain't healthy enough to enj'y life that nawthin' shakes loose from ut. But rip-roarin', full-blooded b'ys, like thim I had, they leaves a woman lorn."
"Were your husbands all Irish?" Jean asked.
"They wor," Mrs. Foley replied, "if Galway, Wicklow, Clare an' Down breed Irishmin, God rest thim!"
"Well, Gus is a good worker. He's been with us for years."
"But ye could fire him when ye liked," Mrs. Foley pointed out. "A husband an' a hired man is cats of diff'rent stripes. But they tell me this lad of yours has money. Then why is he workin' as a hired man onless f'r love of ye, tell me that?"
"I can't help his feelings," Jean returned.
"No, but ye might soothe thim, instid iv playin' cat-an'-mouse—"
"I'm not!" Jean cried. "And I wish you wouldn't talk about him any more."
The net result was that, feeling herself under Mrs. Foley's skeptical eye, she treated the unfortunate Chetwood more distantly than ever. Faith observed, but said nothing, waiting for an opportune moment which was slow in coming.
Since her wedding Faith's ranch had been abandoned. She had removed some of her personal belongings, but the furniture remained. She was aware, now, of the worthlessness of the place. The reasons which had impelled Godfrey French to purchase, whatever they were, were not operative with his children. If Braden had been behind that offer it was improbable that it would be renewed by him. The place was dead horse.