"Oh, I know!… And I'm—well, not flattered to see you'd rather go hang I.W.W.'s than stay here with me." Lenore did not feel the assurance and composure with which she spoke. She was struggling with her own feelings. She believed that just as soon as she and Kurt understood each other—faced each other without any dissimulation—then she would feel free and strong. If only she could put the situation on a sincere footing! She must work for that. Her difficulty was with a sense of falsity. There was no time to plan. She must change his mind.
Her words had made him start.
"Then you know?" he asked.
"Of course."
"I'm sorry for that," he replied, soberly, as he brushed a hand up through his wet hair.
"But you will stay home?"
"No," he returned, shortly, and he looked hard.
"Kurt, I don't want you mixed up with any lynching-bees," she said, earnestly.
"I'm a citizen of Washington. I'll join the vigilantes. I'm American. I've been ruined by these I.W.W.'s. No man in the West has lost so much! Father—home—land—my great harvest of wheat!… Why shouldn't I go?"
"There's no reason except—me," she replied, rather unsteadily.