"I know it," Betty murmured.
"And you?" Gower's deep voice seemed harsh.
Betty threw out her hands in an impatient gesture.
"Must I shout it out loud?" she cried.
"You always were different from most girls, in some things," Gower observed reflectively. "Iron under your softness. I never knew you to stop trying to get anything you really wanted, not while there was a chance to get it. Still—don't you think it would be as well for you to stop wanting young MacRae—since he doesn't want you bad enough to try to get you? Eh?"
He still kept his face studiously averted. His tone was kind, full of a peculiar tenderness that he kept for Betty alone.
She rose and perched herself on the arm of his chair, caught and drew his head against her, forced him to look up into eyes preternaturally bright.
"You don't seem to understand," she said. "It isn't that Jack doesn't want me badly enough. He could have me, and I think he knows that too. But there is something, something that drives him the other way. He loves me. I know he does. And still he has spells of hating all us Gowers—especially you. I know he wouldn't do that without reason."
"Doesn't he tell you the reason?"
Betty shook her head.