They got into the machine, and this time Nichols was alone on the front seat. They drove back toward the tract office. The sun was sinking, and a gray light lay over the empty fields. Helen felt herself part of it. She had lost, and nothing mattered any more. She had no more to lose. She kept up the hopeless effort, but the approaching end was like the thought of rest to a struggling man who is drowning.
"What do you think of it, Mr. MacAdams?"
"Well—I have seen worse."
"Were you satisfied with the soil?"
"I wouldn't say anything against it."
"Would you like us to show you anything more of the water system?" What did she care about water systems!
"No."
The machine stopped before the tract office. They got out.
"Your man's no good. He's a looker, not a buyer," Nichols said to her in an aside.
"He has money and he wants land," she answered wearily.