“A bank cashier,” he nodded. “Quite a jump from the wife of a wild cowboy. But she was ambitious, I reckon.”
“Whispering said that she was very pretty.”
“I suppose she was. She knew it. That ruined her, Nan.”
“Knowing that she was pretty?”
“Shore,” Len smiled wistfully. “It spoiled her. When a woman finds out she’s pretty, she’s like a young man who finds out he’s a good shot. They’re both goin’ to hurt somebody before they get through.”
“I’m glad I’m not pretty, Len.”
He turned in his saddle and looked at her closely.
“No, you’re not pretty, Nan; but yo’re good-lookin’. You’ve got good eyes, pretty teeth and red hair. Some day, some feller is goin’ to think yo’re beautiful, and he’ll tell yuh. But you’ve got plenty sense, and yuh won’t break his heart, because yuh know yuh ain’t beautiful.”
Nan flushed hotly under his diagnosis. No woman cares to be told that she is not beautiful, even if she knows that it is the painful truth.
“Don’t get mad at me, Nan,” he said quickly.