Minutes passed. The sobs gradually subsided; the figure on the floor slowly ceased its convulsive movements; and again a deep silence enveloped the room. Out on the brown-green slope the sun’s rays were slanting low, the shadow of the cottage climbed the hill.
Well, Haig thought, he had bungled the business after all. That was what came of trying to do it nicely, with delicacy. Hard words were the kindest in the end, because the quickest understood.
She had not yet lifted her head when he turned to look at her again; and that made it easier.
“I can’t leave the ranch––just now,” he said slowly. “If I could, I would. So I think––I think you ought to go back home––to New York, I mean––at once.”
She did not answer. And it was only after another silence that she looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were still filled with tears, and there was a curious little puckering of her chin.
“You said you wished you could repay me,” she said. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he answered, wondering. “But I told you––”
“But there is a way!”
“Well?”
“Promise me you will not ride Sunnysides.”