He went on mending until they could get him out of bed; until, on an afternoon when the sun was bright and the wind was low, they could take him into the garden for a breath of air and view. He made the journey out-of-doors with Kate supporting him unnecessarily by the armpit. She set out a Morris chair for him by the lattice, so that he could overlook the Bay, she tucked the robes about him, she parted the vines that he might have better view.
For a moment he swept the bay with his eyes and opened his lungs to the out-door room and air. Then his gaze returned to Kate’s strong, vigorous yet feminine back, as she stood, arms outstretched, hooking vines on the trellis. The misty sunshine was making jewels in her hair.
“Say!” He spoke so suddenly and with 286 such meaning in the monosyllable that Kate blushed as she turned. “Say! is that fellow still writing to you—the one with the Eastern education and the money?”
Kate dropped her eyes.
“No,” she said softly. “I told him—I have broken it off—lately.”
Bertram laughed—his old, fresh laugh of a boy.
“You saved me trouble then. I was just about to serve notice on him that henceforth no one but little Bertie was going to be allowed on this ranch.”
Kate did not speak. She continued to look down at the gravel walk.
“Now don’t you go pretending you don’t know what I mean,” Bertram went on. “Just for that, I won’t tell you what I mean. But you know.”
“What about Eleanor?” murmured Kate.