Peg's eyes dilated a little.
"There is no Mr. Heeler," she said, quickly.
Ben Travers laughed.
"She means Scammel," he explained, "or Forrester, as I dare say you call him now he's spending his money on you!" His face flushed with dull anger as he looked at her. "Fine feathers make fine birds, all right," he said laconically. "But it won't last as long as you think it will, my girl, you mark my words...." He moved away from the dresser and hitched at his collar. "Well, I'm off," he said.
Peg followed him out of the kitchen and caught his arm.
"What are you hinting at?" she asked quietly, though her heart was racing with apprehension.
She knew Ben very well—knew just how reckless and unjust he would be if anybody managed to persuade him that he really had a grievance. He tried to shake her off, but she clung to him.
"You mind your own business," he said roughly. "You threw me over for that...." He bit back an ugly word. "Well, that's your look out!"
"Ben, you're not going to do anything ... foolish!" There was a throb of fear in her voice, and he smiled grimly, "Promise me you're not going to do anything—wicked," she urged.
He turned and looked into her face.