Hetty nodded. “There’s one decent man, Wint.” There was a curious warmth in her tone.
“Yes, he is,” Wint agreed.
“He’s been fine to me,” she said, a little wistfully. Then she put Sam aside with a movement of her hand. “Well, Wint, you want me to go ahead my own way?”
He hesitated; then he said: “Hetty, you’re all right. I don’t blame you for—anything. But I do want you to forget the whole thing. You’ll see it will straighten out. Don’t mix things up.”
They heard his mother come into the dining room, across the hall, and busy herself there; and they kept silent till she went out into the kitchen again. A matter of minutes. Hetty moved once, crossing from her chair to stand beside Wint and touch his shoulder lightly with her hand. When Mrs. Chase had gone out of hearing, she said softly:
“I guess there’s one person you’d like to have know the straight of this.”
Wint’s jaw set slowly with something of the old stubbornness; and he said: “No. She doesn’t believe in me. She’s made no move. I’ll not.”
She twisted her fingers into his hair and shook him good-naturedly. “You, Wint; you’re as stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “What would you think of her if she’d come running? After you’d said you were going to—marry me? What could she do? But she knows you’re a liar, just the same. I’ll bet she’s just waiting.”
Some one came up on the porch outside, and she looked sharply that way, and asked: “Who’s that?”
“I’ll go,” Wint told her; and he went to the front door. Sam O’Brien was there. He had expected Sam. But Jack Routt was with him, and Wint had not expected to see Routt.