They found Mrs. Throop in the hall, discussing the interesting situation with Rawlins, and when Helen extended her hand and began to thank her again for her kindness, the matron cut her short. "Never mind that now. I want you should all stay to supper."
Helen expressed regret and explained that it was necessary to return to the bedside of her father, and so they managed to get away, although Mrs. Throop followed them to the door, inviting them both to come again. She saw no humor in this, though the men had their joke about it.
Rawlins discreetly dropped back into the office, and the two young people passed on into the street.
"You must let me watch with your father to-night," Hanscom said. "I've been a nurse—along with the rest of my experiences."
"If I need you I shall certainly call upon you, and if you need money you must call upon me."
There was something warmer than friendship in her voice, but the ranger was a timid man in any matter involving courtship, and he dared not presume on anything so vague as the change of a tone or the quality of a smile. Nevertheless he said:
"I cannot imagine how it happens that you are here in this rough country, but I am glad you are. I shall be glad all my life—even if you go away and forget me."
"I shall not forget you," she replied, "not for what you've done, but for what you are." And in this declaration lay a profound significance which the man seized and built upon.
"I am not even a forest ranger now. I am nothing but a dub—and you—they say are rich—but some day I'm going to be something else. I haven't any right—to ask anything of you—not a thing, but I must—I can't think of you going entirely out of my life. I want you to let me write to you. May I do that?"
Her answer was unexpected. "You once spoke of getting a transfer to a forest near Denver. If you should do that, you might see me occasionally—for I may make my home in Colorado Springs."