“I don’t think she’s that kind,” said Wint.
“I hope not,” Routt assented. “Hope she doesn’t—get into trouble. If she ever did, in this town....”
Wint said nothing; and Routt added: “She’d need a friend, all right.” And again: “She’d need some one to take her part. But he’d be in Dutch, whoever he was.”
He looked at Wint sidewise. They were near the gate now, and Wint said: “Come in and have supper.”
Routt shook his head. “Not to-night.”
Hetty looked up, at their approach, and Wint called: “Hello, Hetty.”
She said: “Hello, Wint.” Routt repeated Wint’s greeting, and the girl looked at him with curiously steady eyes, and said:
Wint thought, vaguely, that there was some repressed feeling in her tone; but he forgot the matter in bidding Routt good-by, and went inside, leaving Hetty at her task, while Routt went back by the way they had come. Hetty watched him go. He did not look toward her, did not turn his head. She watched him out of sight.
Jack Routt took Agnes Caretall to the moving pictures that night. Wint saw them there. He was with Joan. Afterward, Routt and Agnes walked home together.