“He means he’s going to take you away, Joyce—East, where the guys come from. He’s been working for that the last fifteen years—and, God help me!—so have I, without knowin’ it. The horses is a pretty considerable bunch now, and——”
“But I won’t go,” flashed the girl; “I won’t go, Dode.” Her hand was on his arm. “I’ll talk him over.”
“You’ll never do that,” said Dode. “Never. I know Joe better’n you, though he is your dad. He’s got that queer set look;—besides, he’s right.”
“Right?”
“Yes, he always is. You’ve made good—you ought to go East and live swell. This is no country for a woman.”
“You say that?”
“He says it, and he’s always right.”
“But you don’t say it—you don’t say it, Dode!”
Her hands were on his shoulders now, he could feel her warm breath on his face.
“My God!” he burst out, “you know I love every inch and atom of you.” His hands were trembling at his sides. “You know that I’d do anything—anything—but we can’t go against him. Someway I couldn’t do it—I’d feel I’d stolen you—that I wasn’t giving you what was your due. He’s right; he’s always right.”