“Red? It is pure gold. Do you remember when I found that out on the hearth in free Levi's cabin? The colour went to my head, but when I put out my hand to touch a curl, you drew away and fastened them up again. Now I have pulled them all down and you dare not move.”
“Shall I tell you why I drew away?”
The tears were still on her lashes, but in the exaltation of a great passion, life, death, the grave, and things beyond had dwindled like stars before the rising sun.
“You told me then—because I was 'a pampered poodle dog.' Well, I've outgrown that objection certainly. Let us hope you have a fancy for lean hounds.”
She put up her hands in protest.
“I drew away partly because I knew you did not love me,” she said, meeting his eyes with her clear and ardent gaze, “but more because—I knew that I loved you.”
“You loved me then? Oh, Betty, if I had only known!”
“If you had known!” She covered her face. “Oh, it was terrible enough as it was. I wanted to beat myself for shame.”
“Shame? In loving me, my darling?”
“In loving you like that.”