“Oh! I do not wear his—his ring,” she said hoarsely. “There—there is a reason. I——”
“I am not prying into your private affairs, Miss Betty,” Hurley said quickly. “Only—I am sorry I did not know before. Willie never said a word to warn me.”
“He does not know!” ejaculated the girl. “I—I do not want him to know.”
“He won’t learn it from me. Don’t fear,” said Hurley rather roughly.
“Oh, Mr. Hurley! I am so—so sorry,” whispered the girl.
The man, with drooping shoulders and hanging head, sat his horse, a statue of disappointment. He did not move or look at her, as she wheeled her own mount.
“I—I think I would like to ride back alone, Mr. Hurley. You—you won’t mind? Afterward I hope we may be quite as good friends as heretofore. I do appreciate your friendship—Joe.”
Betty could not easily miss the way back. The trail was perfectly plain. She rode fast at first, for with all her sorrow for Joe Hurley’s disappointment, she could not bear him near her now.
Because she had no thought of ever considering him other than a friend, the girl, who was after all quite inexperienced, had not dreamed Hurley would come to regard her warmly. She could not understand how it had happened. It seemed unbelievable!
Love—romance; a lover—happiness; these things were not for Betty Hunt. She had long ago told herself this. She was devoted to one man only, her brother. And when he would no longer need her, if that time ever came, she expected to follow a lonely trail.