Scotty moved uncomfortably in his seat. "Ben," he said at last, "I'd like to ask you to stay with us if I could, but—" he paused, looking cautiously in at the open door—"but Mollie, you know—It would mean the dickens' own time with her."
Ben showed neither surprise nor resentment. "Thank you," he replied. "I understand. I couldn't have accepted had you invited me. Let's not consider it."
Again the seat which usually fitted the Englishman so well grew uncomfortable. He was conscious that through the curtains of the library window some one was watching him and the new-comer. He had a mortal dread of a scene, and one seemed inevitable.
"How's the old ranch?" he asked evasively.
"It's just as you left it. I haven't got the heart somehow to change anything. We use up a good many horses one way and another during a year, and when I get squared around I'm going to start a herd there with one of the boys to look after it. It was Rankin's idea too."
"You expect to keep on ranching, then?"
"Why not?"
"I thought, perhaps, now that you had plenty to do with—You're young, you know."
Ben looked out across the narrow plat of turf deliberately.
"Am I—young? Really, I'd never thought of it in that way."