"I made a compact with Tomlinson to hold his claim for him."
Once more the colour crept into Grace's face. "You do not mean to let that stop you when there are men you could hire to do what the law requires?"
"You don't seem to understand," and there was a trace of astonishment in Ingleby's eyes. "One could not depend absolutely upon them, and I made a bargain with Tomlinson. That claim is worth everything to him and his mother—I think it is—back in Oregon."
The flush grew plainer in Grace's cheek. She was a trifle imperious, and now her will had clashed with one that was as resolute as it. She was, however, sensible that she had blundered.
"Those men could do almost as much as you could, which would, after all, be very little just now," she said. "I never meant that you should risk the claim falling in."
"They might fall sick, or get hurt."
"And that might happen to you."
"I should, at least, have kept my word to Tomlinson," said Ingleby gravely.
Grace was too proud to persist. He was right, of course, but the fact that he would sooner part from her than incur the slightest risk of breaking faith with Tomlinson had nevertheless its sting. That, however, she would not show.
"Then I suppose I must not complain," she said. "You evidently have no intention of doing so."