Wise beyond her years, she smiled tenderly. “You mentioned faith a minute ago. It’s true. We have to live by that. A thousand times a day we depend on it. We rely on the foundations of the house not to crumble and let it bury us. I never ride a horse without assuming that it won’t kick me. We have to have the courage of our hopes, don’t we?”
“For ourselves, yes. But we ought not to invite those we love into the house unless we’re sure of the foundations.”
“I’m sure enough. And, anyhow, that’s a poor cold sort of philosophy. I want to be where you are.” The slim, straight figure, the dusky, gallant little head, the eyes so luminous and quick, reproached with their eagerness his prudent caution. She offered him the greatest gift in the world, and he hung back with ifs and buts.
There was in him something that held at bay what he wanted more than anything else on earth. He could not brush aside hesitations with her magnificent scorn. He had lost the right to do it. His generosity would be at her expense.
“If you knew, dear, how much I want you. If you knew! But I’ve got to think of you, to protect you from myself. Oh, Betty, why didn’t I meet you two years ago?” His voice was poignant as a wail.
“You didn’t. But you’ve met me now. If you really want me—well, here I am.”
“Yes, you’re there, the sweetest girl ever God made—and I’m here a thousand miles away from you.”
“Not unless you think so, Tug,” she answered softly, her dusky eyes inviting him. “You’ve made me love you. What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to see you get the squarest deal I can give you, no matter what it costs.”
“Costs you or me?”