When he saw her—a slender figure—he leaped forward, eager, grateful. She saw him, and halted, raising defensive hands.
"Dallas! Dallas!" He stretched out his arms to her.
"No, no—no, no."
As well try to stem the Missouri. He caught her close and held her. He pressed his cheek tenderly to hers. She yielded, murmuring to him. Thus—for a space that was matchlessly sweet. When, without releasing her, he lifted his head, and lifted hers by a smoothing caress of her hair. Then he searched her face long and hungrily.
"Oh, Dallas, you do care," he said finally, and his voice was deep with joy.
She did not deny—only, "Just makes things worse," she whispered miserably.
Gently he let her go. "But I love you," he answered.
Her eyes were grave. They seemed to blame him.
"I love you," he repeated.
She was too just to forget her own lack of strength. Her eyes clouded with sadness, and brimmed. "I hate myself for coming," she said fiercely.