“He certainly would,” declared Masten, earnestly. “No one—not even your father—must know that I come here to see you.”
“I reckon I won’t tell. But Miss Ruth? Are you sure she don’t care for you any more?”
“Well,” he lied glibly; “she has broken our engagement. But if she knew that I come here to see you she’d be jealous, you know. So it’s better not to tell her. If you do tell her, I’ll stop coming,” he threatened.
“It’s hard to keep from tellin’ folks how happy I am,” she said. “Once, I was afraid Rex Randerson could see it in my eyes—when he took a-hold of my arms hyeh, an’ looked at me.”
Masten looked jealously at her. “Looked at you, eh?” he said. “Are you sure he didn’t try to do anything else—didn’t do anything else? Like kissing you, for instance?”
“I’m certain sure,” she replied, looking straight at him. “He used to kiss me. But he says I’m a woman, now, an’ it wouldn’t be square to kiss me any more.” Her eyes had drooped from his.
“An’ I reckon that’s right, too, ain’t it?” She looked up again, not receiving an answer. “Why, how red your face is!” she exclaimed. “I ain’t said nothin’ to hurt you, have I?”
“No,” he said. But he held her tightly to him, her head on his shoulder, so that she might not see the guilt in his eyes.