Sally looked at her with unveiled compassion, and Agatha did not shrink from it.
"Yes," she said, with a simplicity that became her, "and Gregory must have someone to—take care of him. I must do it if I can."
There was no doubt that Agatha was stirred. This half-taught girl's quiet acceptance of the burden that many women must carry once more made her almost ashamed.
"We will leave it to you," she said.
Then it became evident that there was another side to Sally's character, for her manner changed, and the suggestive hardness crept back into her eyes.
"Well," she said, "I'd most been expecting something of this kind when I heard that man Edmonds was going to the Range. He has got a pull on Gregory, but he's surely not going to feel quite happy when I get hold of him."
She rose in another moment, and, saying nothing further, walked back towards the house, in front of which they came upon Mrs. Hastings. Sally looked at the latter significantly.
"I'm going over to the Range after supper," she said.
Mrs. Hastings drove away with Agatha, and said very little to her during the journey, but an hour after they had reached the homestead she slipped quietly into the girl's room, and found her lying in a big chair, sobbing bitterly. She sat down close beside her, and laid a hand upon her shoulder.
"I don't think Sally could have said anything to trouble you like this," she said.