“Tell me—what did you do to-day?” he whispered, holding her hand to his cheek.
“I went shopping,” she said. “And later, I had lunch with Carol.”
Martin spoke irritably.
“That one again? Why doesn’t he go back to the Dust Bowl?”
“He isn’t that bad, Martin.” Deane tried to sound convincing.
“I should think,” Martin said bitterly, “that you would be the last one to question my judgment where such people are concerned.”
Deane lifted her delicate eyebrows.
“I’m glad I’m your sweetheart,” she said. “That remark would sound curious to others.”
“I suppose it would,” replied Martin, a bit unhappily. “I’ll admit, I’m prejudiced as the devil, but I can’t help but see it. Carol’s learning new tricks. The crust is breaking. He lives among his fantasies—dreams fired by sagebrush and loneliness. His desire is volatile and his friends right now may affect the nature of his entire life. I’m sorry Roberts is mixed up in it.”