Sally turned her face away, for Agatha had, as it happened, made her meaning perfectly plain. Somewhat to the latter's astonishment, she showed no sign of resentment when she looked round again.
"Then," she said, "it is way better that you didn't marry him." She paused, and seemed to search for words to express herself with. "I knew all along all there was to know about Gregory—except that he was going to marry you, and it was some time before I heard that—and I was ready to take him. I was fond of him."
Agatha's heart went out to her. "Yes," she said simply, "it is a very good thing that I let him go." Then she smiled. "That, however, doesn't quite describe it, Sally."
Her companion flushed. "I couldn't have said that, but you don't quite understand yet. I said I knew all there was to know about him—and you never did. You made too much of him in England, and when you came out here you only saw the things you didn't like in him. Still, they weren't the only ones."
Agatha started at this, for she realised that part of it was certainly true, and she could admit the possibility of the rest being equally correct. After all, Gregory might possess a few good qualities that she had never discovered.
"Perhaps I did," she admitted. "I don't think it matters now."
"They're all of them mixed," persisted Sally. "One can't expect too much, but you can bear with a good deal when you're fond of any one."
Agatha sat silent awhile, for she was troubled by a certain sense of probably wholesome confusion. It seemed to her that Sally had the clearer vision. Love had given her discernment as well as charity, and, not expecting perfection, it was the man's strong points she fixed her eyes upon.
"Yes," she said at length, "I am glad you look at it that way, Sally."
The girl laughed. "Oh!" she said, "I've only seen one man on the prairie who was quite white all through, and I had a kind of notion that he was fond of you."