The sound in his throat was almost a groan. “Dear heart, I’m torn in two,” he told her.
“Don’t be, Tug.” Her tender eyes and wistfully smiling lips were very close to him. “It’s all right. I’m just as sure.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to play the game,” he said miserably.
Betty talked, pleaded, argued with him, but his point of view remained unchanged.
A reaction of irritation swept her. It was in part offended modesty. She had offered herself, repeatedly, and he would not have her. How did she know that he was giving the true reason? It might be only a tactful way of getting rid of her.
“Play it then,” she replied curtly, and she walked out of the room without another look at him.
He was astounded, shocked. He had been to blame, of course, in ever letting his love leap out and surprise them. Probably he had not made clear to her the obligation that bound him not to let her tie up her life with his. He must see her at once and make her understand.
But this he could not do. A note dispatched by Ruth brought back the verbal message that she was busy. At supper Betty did not appear. The specious plea was that she had a headache. Nor was she at breakfast. From Bridget he gathered that she had gone to the Quarter Circle D E and would stay there several days.
“Lookin’ after some fencing,” the housekeeper explained. “That gir-rl’s a wonder if iver there was one.”
Tug agreed to that, but it was in his mind that the fencing would have had to wait if affairs had not come to a crisis between him and Betty. He had no intention of keeping her from her home. Over the telephone he made arrangements to stay at the Wild Horse House. Clint, perplexed and a little disturbed in mind, drove him to town.