She looked hard at him and though she smiled her words stung him, but before he could break in she went on:
"When I sat here having him talk to me last night I had that dreadful inferior feeling again, felt as though I weren't up to the standard of good women that these roughnecks hold. I can't explain it to you because you wouldn't let yourself understand. I was furious for a time, but he was right, according to his way of thinking.
"That way is going to be my way,"—with growing firmness. "I'm playing a new game and I must play it according to the rules. I did more than make up my mind to leave the drinks and cigarettes alone. I resolved that I'd try to be worthy in every way of the respect I want these men to have for me!"
"Because this Westerner doesn't approve of the way you have lived?"
"Yes. He knows the rules of the new game."
"Jane, I'm going to stop this foolishness!" He advanced to her and caught her hands in his. "I love you, I love you! I'm not going to see you losing your head this way!"
She struggled to withdraw her hands.
"No, I'm going to hold you, going to keep you. I'm—" He drew her to him roughly, but she slipped from the clasp of his arm and backed across the room, her hands still imprisoned in his.
"Dick!"
It was not her cry which caused him to halt. It was a step outside the door and, standing there, her hands in his, he met the level, amused gaze of Tom Beck.