"Sally confessed it, Diane," replied Wright.
"Sally!" A shrinking, shuddering disbelief filled Miss Sampson's voice.
"Diane, I told you I loved him—didn't I?" replied Sally. She managed to hold up her head with a ghost of her former defiant spirit.
"Miss Sampson, it's a—" I burst out.
Then Sally fainted. It was I who caught her. Miss Sampson hurried to her side with a little cry of distress.
"Russ, your hand's called," said Sampson. "Of course you'll swear the moon's green cheese. And I like you the better for it. But we know now, and you can save your breath. If Sally hadn't stuck up so gamely for you I'd have shot you. But at that I wasn't looking for you. Now clear out of here." I picked up my gun from the bureau and dropped it in its sheath. For the life of me I could not leave without another look at Miss Sampson. The scorn in her eyes did not wholly hide the sadness. She who needed friends was experiencing the bitterness of misplaced trust. That came out in the scorn, but the sadness—I knew what hurt her most was her sorrow.
I dropped my head and stalked out.