It was that which she had seen in the morning—to wit, Gordon snatching Lee out of her saddle.
“And oh, isn’t it nice to think that she’ll be settled, at last, with that fine boy!”
Happy in the conclusion, she began to sketch a picture of them settled happily at Los Arboles. Her voice, as she ran on, took a little quiver that powerfully expressed her own loneliness, inspired in Bull an intense desire to seize and squeeze it out. Instead his arms tightened around the child.
“Not one marriage in a hundred turns out what it might be. But with the exception, when respect, friendliness, affection, and a sense of duty are reinforced by love—well, it’s the nearest to heaven that poor humans ever gain.” She added, with a sigh: “Excepting that it gave me this child, my own wasn’t all that it might have been. She’s been a joy and comfort, but—in a few years more she’ll be marrying, herself. Then I’ll be again alone.”
“Why did you never marry?” Betty’s small, soft voice stole out on the darkness from the depths of Bull’s embrace.
The stock excuses rose to his lips—but did not pass, for through the friendly gloaming he was aware of a rustle. His face turned toward it.
“I never felt myself fit.”
“Why, that’s just nonsense!” Betty indignantly declared. “Any woman that wasn’t a downright fool would be glad to have you. I know one that would give her best shoes—”
“Betty!”
But the small rebel ran on, “Well, she would—even if I can’t tell you her name.”