With her chin in one hand, elbow on knee, she studied him a moment as though endowed with sudden inspiration. A quick frown which had shadowed his face at sight of the railroad had driven home a suspicion which she had long held. Now she dared to voice it.
"Have things been mixed up for you—back there?"
The question startled him. He gave her a swift look as though to divine the reason for it. It was so direct that it was hard to evade. And he would not lie directly to her. So he replied bluntly,
"Yes."
She waited. He saw her expectant eyes, but he went no further. Part of the price he paid for being here was renunciation of the balm he might have in the sharing of his trouble with her. He knew that she would take his silence for a rebuff, but he could not help that. He said nothing more, the silence eating into him.
But something stronger than her pride drove her on.
"Mr. Donaldson," she said, "you have given a great deal of time to me and mine—if there is anything I may do in return, you will give me the privilege?"
"There is nothing," he answered.
He saw the puzzled hurt in her eyes.
"I know all that you with your big heart would do for me," he declared earnestly, "but honestly there is nothing possible. My worry will cure itself. I can see the end of it even now."