"Have you ever thought of me, in this performance of yours?" she cried, stung by his silence. "I am your wife. What right had you to throw away money the way you have done, without even asking me what I thought about it? Throwing away——"
"You aren't worrying about your hotel bill, are you? I believe you still have a few nickels left. You ought to make out—for awhile, anyway. I can land a job, maybe, after this blows over."
"A job! You'll land in the insane asylum, if you keep on. I wish I'd never seen you, Bill Dale!"
"In that case," said Bill, looking up from slicing bacon, "you'd still be punchin' cows for your dad, most likely."
Doris gave him one furious glare and swept past him. "I hate the ground you walk on!" she cried. "I hope I never see you again, as long as I live!"
Bill went on slicing bacon, even after he had heard the gate slam. When he came to himself, he had sliced enough for ten hungry men.
"You won't, if I can help it," he said tardily; so tardily that Doris was probably at home by that time.
But nothing is immutable save the Law, and Bill was up at the big house, the next day, attending to the small details of departure. Baby Mary was in his arms, bonneted and ready to go, a full hour before the train left. Bill wondered dully how he was ever going to loosen his clasp of her warm little body and let her go with Doris,—out of his life, since the break between him and her mother was irrevocable.
He wondered if Doris would divorce him. But he would have bitten his tongue in two before he would ask. She was keeping up the pretense, speaking to him pleasantly when a servant was within hearing, ignoring his presence when they chanced to be alone.
At the depot, whither he accompanied them, still carrying little Mary in his arms, Doris chatted lightly of trivial things and smiled frequently at Bill. The eyes of Parowan were upon them, and Doris would give them nothing more to roll under their tongues.