Riding on, thinking of Mary, Justin encountered Lucy. She joined him, and they rode together along the homeward trail. When she rallied him on his depressed manner, he told her of Mary’s appeal.
“Yes,” she admitted, “I had heard she was at home, and I know only too well that Ben has been drinking more than ever of late. I can see that it is hurting Uncle Philip very much. He has always believed that when Ben sows what he calls his wild oats he will change and be a man, but I’ve doubted it. There isn’t anything you can do, not a thing; but I shall go to see Mary, and try to make her feel better.”
She looked earnestly at Justin, riding beside her. He had put aside the checked business suit of gray, and was clad roughly, as became his muddy calling. Yet how manly he was, however he dressed; how broad his shoulders, how sturdy and well-knit his frame, how clear and open his countenance, and how intelligent and attractive the flash of his eyes, as he conversed with her! She knew that she loved him more than ever.
“One would never dream that you are related to Ben!”
“I hope I am not like him, even though he is my half-brother.”
“You aren’t, not in the least; I don’t think I could like you so well as I do if you were.”
“Then you do like me?”
He looked at her, smiling.
“It would be only natural for me to like the man I have promised to marry, wouldn’t it?”
“I was merely hoping that you love me; like is too mild a word.”