He crowded his horse almost against hers and dropped a hand on top of her hand where it lay on the saddle horn. She did not withdraw her hand at his touch. She simply suffered it impassively.
"Don't you understand?" he said earnestly. "Don't you understand that I love you, Sally Jane? And I want you."
Sally Jane continued to look at him.
"I understand that you want me," she told him calmly. "Why not? You're dark and tall and thick-lipped and headstrong. I'm slim and red-haired and my mouth is full, too—but I'm headstrong, thank Heaven. My type appeals to your type, that's all. Appeals physically, I mean. You'd like to possess me, but you don't love me, Jack Murray."
"I tell you——" he began passionately.
"You don't have to tell me," she said calmly. "I know."
"How do you know?"
"By your eyes."
"My eyes!"
"Your eyes. Love is something besides desire, Jack. I know that lots of men don't think so; but women know. You bet women know. And I, for one, don't intend to risk my happiness on a twenty-to-one-shot."