All her high coloring departed at once; a pale, sick face looked at Connor.
"Don't say it," murmured the girl. "I thought last night just for a moment—but I couldn't let myself think of it for an instant."
"I understand," said Connor gently. "You took all that highfaluting poetry stuff to be the same thing. But, say, Ruth, I've heard a young buck talk to a young squaw—before he married her. Just about the same line of junk, eh? What makes me sick is that when we get him out in a town he'll lose his head entirely when he sees a room full of girls. We'll simply have to plant a contract on him and—then let him go!"
"Do you think it's only that?" she said again, faintly.
"I leave it to you. Use your reason, and figure it out for yourself. I don't mean that you're in any danger. You know you're not as long as I'm around!"
She thanked him with a wan smile.
"But how can I let him come near me—now?"
"It's a mess. I'm sorry about it. But once the deal goes through I'll make this up to you if it takes me the rest of my life. You believe me?"
"I know you're true blue, Ben! And—I trust you."
He was a little disturbed to find that his pulse was decidedly quickened by that simple speech.