“Never, Jean Isbel!” she cried. “I’ll never know truth from y’u.... I’ll never share anythin’ with y’u—not even hell.”
Isbel dismounted and stood before her, still holding his bridle reins. The bay horse champed his bit and tossed his head.
“Why do you hate me so?” he asked. “I just happen to be my father’s son. I never harmed you or any of your people. I met you ... fell in love with you in a flash—though I never knew it till after.... Why do you hate me so terribly?”
Ellen felt a heavy, stifling pressure within her breast. “Y’u’re an Isbel.... Doon’t speak of love to me.”
“I didn’t intend to. But your—your hate seems unnatural. And we’ll probably never meet again.... I can’t help it. I love you. Love at first sight! Jean Isbel and Ellen Jorth! Strange, isn’t it? ... It was all so strange. My meetin’ you so lonely and unhappy, my seein’ you so sweet and beautiful, my thinkin’ you so good in spite of—”
“Shore it was strange,” interrupted Ellen, with scornful laugh. She had found her defense. In hurting him she could hide her own hurt. “Thinking me so good in spite of— Ha-ha! And I said I’d been kissed before!”
“Yes, in spite of everything,” he said.
Ellen could not look at him as he loomed over her. She felt a wild tumult in her heart. All that crowded to her lips for utterance was false.
“Yes—kissed before I met you—and since,” she said, mockingly. “And I laugh at what y’u call love, Jean Isbel.”
“Laugh if you want—but believe it was sweet, honorable—the best in me,” he replied, in deep earnestness.