“To ME? Well, you're not backward, I declare,” retorted Bo.
“Miss Rayner, I reckon it 'll be strange to you—findin' out I didn't come to see you.”
“Indeed! No. But what was strange was the deluded idea I had—that you meant to apologize to me—like a gentleman.... Come in, Mr. Carmichael. My sister is here.”
The door closed as Helen turned round. Carmichael stood just inside with his sombrero in hand, and as he gazed at Bo his lean face seemed hard. In the few months since autumn he had changed—aged, it seemed, and the once young, frank, alert, and careless cowboy traits had merged into the making of a man. Helen knew just how much of a man he really was. He had been her mainstay during all the complex working of the ranch that had fallen upon her shoulders.
“Wal, I reckon you was deluded, all right—if you thought I'd crawl like them other lovers of yours,” he said, with cool deliberation.
Bo turned pale, and her eyes fairly blazed, yet even in what must have been her fury Helen saw amaze and pain.
“OTHER lovers? I think the biggest delusion here is the way you flatter yourself,” replied Bo, stingingly.
“Me flatter myself? Nope. You don't savvy me. I'm shore hatin' myself these days.”
“Small wonder. I certainly hate you—with all my heart!”
At this retort the cowboy dropped his head and did not see Bo flaunt herself out of the room. But he heard the door close, and then slowly came toward Helen.