Bowers knew of this silent hostility, which was so unnecessary, but he dared not speak of it. He could only deny that she had faults and resent it with violence when the criticisms become too objectionable.
If Kate had known of the antagonism, it would have made no difference—she would rather have taken the losses it entailed than to conciliate. She would have argued that if she was harsh, imperious, it was her privilege—she had earned it.
Life for Kate had resolved itself into an unromantic routine—like extracting the last penny for her wool that was possible, shipping on favorable markets, acquiring advantageous leases, discharging incapable herders and hiring others, eliminating waste and unnecessary expenditures, studying range conditions against hard winters.
“Any mail for the herders?” Bowers asked, innocently, since she showed no disposition to give him her confidence farther.
He watched her intently as she sorted the mail, tossing him a paper finally from which he removed the wrapper with a certain eagerness. He peered into it with a secrecy that attracted her attention, and, looking at it hard, Kate recognized it as the publication of a matrimonial agency.
“Bowers, you surprise me!” She regarded him quizzically.
Bowers started guiltily.
“Aw—it’s one they sent me,” he said disparagingly—“jest a sample copy.”
“Bowers, I think you’re lying,” she accused him good-humoredly. “Tell me the truth—didn’t you send for it?”
He squirmed and colored.