Dave had no reply to make. The girl's plain statement had damped his enthusiasm. He had forgotten Jim. She had done this for love of the other man.
"I want you to do me a great favor," she went on presently. "I want it very—very much. You think I've learned a lot. Well, I want to learn more. I don't know quite why—I s'pose it's because I'm interested. I want to see the big lumber being trimmed. I want to see your own mill in full work, and have what I don't understand explained to me. Will you do it? Some night. I'd like to see it all in its most inspiring light. Will you, Dave?"
She laid a coaxing hand on his great arm, and looked eagerly into his eyes. At that moment the lumberman would have promised her the world. And he would have striven with every nerve in his body to fulfil his promise.
"Sure," he said simply. "Name your own time."
And for once the girl didn't thank him in her usual frank way. She simply drew her hand away and chirruped at the old mare.
For the rest of the drive home she remained silent. It was as though Dave's ready, eager promise had suddenly affected her in some disturbing way. Her brown eyes looked straight ahead along the trail, and they were curiously serious.
They reached the man's home. He alighted, and she drove on to her own destination with a feeling of relief not unmixed with regret.
Dave's mother had been long waiting dinner for her boy. She had seen the buggy and guessed who was in it, and as he came up she greeted him with pride and affection shining in her old eyes.
"That was Betty?" she inquired, moving across to the dinner-table, while the man removed his slicker.
"Yes, ma," he said coolly. He had no desire to discuss Betty with any one just then, not even with his mother.