Before Judson left, he came to me with Lettie.
"Will you take this young lady home for me? I must go to the store at once. Business before pleasure with me. That's it, business first. Very sorry, Miss Lettie; Phil will see you safely home."
I was in for the obligation. The Conlows lived four blocks beyond the shop down toward the creek. The way was shadowy, and Lettie clung to my arm. I was tired from my stage ride of a day and a half, and I had not slept well for two nights. I distrusted Lettie, for I knew her disposition as I knew her father's before her.
"Phil, why do you hate me?" she asked at the gate.
"I don't hate you, Lettie. You use an ugly word when you say 'hate,'" I replied.
"There's one person I do hate," she said bitterly.
"Has he given you cause?"
"It's not a man; it's a woman. It's Marjie Whately," she burst out. "I hate her."
"Well, Lettie, I'm sorry, for I don't believe Marjie deserves your hate."
"Of course, you'd say so. But never mind. Marjie's not going to have my hate alone. You'll feel like I do yet, when her mother forces her away from you. Marjie's just a putty ball in her mother's hands, and her mother is crazy about Amos Judson. Oh, I've said too much," she exclaimed.