“The thing is,” she said steadily, “how am I going to make it up to you? What do you want me to do?” He did not answer at once; and she told him humbly: “I’ll do anything you say.”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m willing to go through with it.”
She rose to her feet with a swift, furious movement. “Damn you, Wint!” she cried chokingly. “Don’t you say that again. Ain’t I sorry enough to suit you? Haven’t you poured coals of fire on my head till—till my hair’s all singed? Don’t rub it in, Wint,” she pleaded. “You’ve made me feel bad enough. I’ll say I was ready to quit, last night. It wasn’t worth a penny, to live. Then I thought I might make it up to you. So I—stayed alive. Don’t you rub it in to me, now. Don’t you say that again. I tell you, Wint, I went through something, last night.” Her voice shook, she stretched out her hands to him. “For God’s sake, Wint, don’t rub it in any more!”
There were tears in her eyes, on her cheeks; her face was the face of one in torment. He took her hands; and he said gently: “Please—I didn’t mean to make you unhappy. You’ve—really, you’ve made me happy. I thought every one would be against me. But Amos and B. B. came to me, offered me their friendship, and their help. And father came to me. I never knew before what friends I had. You’ve done that for me, already.”
“I’ll bet Routt came to you, too,” she said, a terrible scorn in her voice. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
She was frankly crying, now; her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face. Her lips twisted; she held out her clenched hands. “I’d like to kill him.”
“Don’t cry,” Wint begged. “Please.”
She brushed her arms across her eyes and smiled at him. “All right. Now.... What do you want me to do? It’s up to you.”
“I don’t want you to do anything,” Wint protested. “It will all come out right in the end.”