Joan was troubled; she wanted to say more, but she did not know how. And—she could not forget Hetty. She had not meant to speak to Wint of Hetty; but Joan was woman enough to be unable to hold her tongue. Also, Wint’s loyalty to Routt had angered her; she was willing to hurt him—as men and women are always willing to hurt the thing they love. She said slowly:
“Did you know people are beginning to talk about Hetty Morfee, Wint? You and Hetty!”
Wint’s anger flamed; he flung up his hand disgustedly. “You women. You’re always ready to jump on each other. Why can’t this town let Hetty alone?”
“I only meant—” Joan began.
“I don’t care what you meant,” Wint told her. “You ought not to pass gossip on, Joan. I hate it.”
“I don’t see why you have to defend her,” she protested; and he said hotly:
“I’m not defending her. She doesn’t need defending. If she did, I would, though. Hetty’s all right.”
Joan drew back a little into the shadow of the porch. After a moment, she said:
“Good night, Wint.”
He said harshly: “Good night. And for Heaven’s sake, forget this foolishness. Routt and Hetty.... They’re all right.”