Miss Conroy looked away from him, but he could see a deeper tint of red in her cheek. It seemed a long time before she said anything. Then: “But you've forgotten about Harry. He's my brother, and he'd be—er—you wouldn't want him related—to you.”
“Harry! Well, I pass him up. I've got a pretty long account against him; but I'll cross it off. It won't be hard to do—for you. I've thought of all that; and a man can forgive a whole lot in the brother of the woman he loves.” He leaned toward her and added honestly: “I can't promise you I'll ever get to like him, Jessie; but I'll keep my hands off him, and I'll treat him civil; and when you consider all he's done, that's quite a large-sized contract.”
Miss Conroy became much interested in the ears of her horse.
“The only thing to decide is whether you like me enough. If you do, we'll sure be happy. Never mind Harry.”
“You're very generous,” she flared, “telling me to never mind Harry. And Harry's my own brother, and the only near relative I've got. I know he's—impulsive, and quick-tempered, perhaps. But he needs me all the more. Do you think I'll turn against him, even for you?”
That “even” may have been a slip, but it heartened Rowdy immensely. “I don't ask you to,” he told her gently. “I only want you to not turn against me.”
“I do wish you two would be sensible, and stop quarreling.” She glanced at him briefly.
“I'm willing to cut it out—I told you that. I can't answer for him, though.” Rowdy sighed, wishing Harry Conroy in Australia, or some place equally remote.
Miss Conroy suddenly resolved to be strictly just; and when a young woman sets about being deliberately just, the Lord pity him whom she judges!
“Before I answer you, I must know just what all this is about,” she said firmly. “I want to hear both sides; I'm sure Harry wouldn't do anything mean. Do you think he would?”