“Of course you didn’t mean it! Women never do mean it––that way. And I suppose you didn’t mean to let those men ride on to Paradise when they told you the horse was mine, did you?”
“Oh!” cried Marion, almost in a scream. “How did you––know?”
He laughed.
“I happened to ask Larkin if he had met nobody on the road who could have directed him. He said there was no one but a ‘purty girl.’ That was you, wasn’t it?”
She was speechless.
“And my warning to Huntington. Did you deliver that?”
“No,” she answered, scarcely above a whisper.
“Of course not. That would have been too simple and honest and direct. You can’t be honest and straightforward to save your lives. You live by deception, and boast about your love of truth. Your deepest craving is for violence, while you prate about your gentle influence over men. I haven’t the least doubt in the world that Mrs. Huntington, for all her baby face, is back of all Huntington’s violence––thinks she’s a wonderful inspiration to him, with a special genius for the cattle business! And when she gets him killed––with your assistance––she’ll flop down, and weep––and you too, both of you––and wail that you didn’t mean it!”
She recoiled from him, and leaned helplessly against the wall of the stable.