“That railway strike has lasted a terribly long time,” she said, in a tone of voice utterly different from her trembling accents of a few minutes past. “But now, thank goodness, it is all over, and I can arrange my plans at last. My father has sent the money for my return. But it is good of you to wish to make things easy for my journey. I shall not, however, need any more ready money, you see, for the cheque is large enough to pay my expenses twice over to England.”
Ben stood there half stunned by her sudden change of manner, and by the consummate way in which she swept from her horizon the whole of this incident between them.
“And now about the ranch,” she continued, with the dignity of a queen. “I will look out the papers to-morrow, and then we will settle it as you wish. I do not know any one to whom I could sell dear Robert’s ranch with greater pleasure than to you. But you must pay me at your leisure. There is no hurry.”
“Good God!” thought Ben. “A few minutes ago this woman was all but throwing herself at my feet, and now she stands there and patronises me.”
He could scarcely control his anger and scorn, but he mastered himself, and said quietly:
“I shall be very grateful to have old Robert’s ranch. It will be some consolation to me to take care of it and make it my own. You know we loved each other, he and I. But as for payment, I shall prefer to give the money down, at once.”
“That shall be just as you please,” she said, with gracious condescension. “And now good-night. I am very tired.”
She held out her hand to him, but he looked her straight in the face, bowed slightly, and left her.
CHAPTER XII
FAREWELL TO CALIFORNIA
A FORTNIGHT afterwards, Ben Overleigh and Jesse Holles saw Hilda Strafford off at the station. She looked very pale, and glanced at Ben uneasily from time to time. There was neither scorn nor anger in his manner now, but just the old gentle chivalry, which was the outcome of his best self. His face, too, had lost its expression of restless anxiety, and there was a dignity about his whole bearing, which might well have been the outward and visible sign of the quiet dignity of his mind, won after a fierce struggle.