"I won't bother you again this way," she heard him saying, his voice sounding unreal as it forced its way through the roaring in her head. "I had to get it out of my system, or it'd have gone in some other direction; reaction, they call it, I guess. Then, somebody'd have been hurt or somethin' broken, maybe your heart,"--looking at her with his patient smile. "I'll go back home; I'll work with him. Sometimes, I'll come to see you, if you don't mind, to tell you about ... him. You don't mind, do you?" With an obvious effort, she shook her head. "No, I don't mind. I'll be glad to see you," she muttered, holding her self-possession doggedly. An awkward pause followed in which Bayard fussed with the ends of the gay silk scarf that hung about his neck and shoulders. "I guess I'd better go now," he mumbled, and picked up his hat. "You see, I don't know what to say to you," Ann confessed, drawing a hand across her eyes. "It has all overwhelmed me so. I ... perhaps another time I can talk it over with you." "If you think it's best to mention it again, ma'am," he said. She extended her hand to him and he clasped it. On the contact, his arm trembled as though he would crush the small fingers in his, but the grasp went no further than a formal shake. "In a day or two ... Ann," he said, using her given name for the first time. He bowed low, turned quickly and half stumbled into the hall, closing the door behind him as he went. The woman sat down on the edge of the bed weakly. * * * * * In the dining room Nora Brewster was dusting and she looked up quickly at Bayard's entrance. "Hello, Bruce," she said, eyes fastening on him eagerly. "You're gettin' to be a frequent caller, ain't you?" He tried to smile when he answered, "Hardly a caller; kind of an errand boy, between bein' a nurse an' jailer." He could not deceive the girl. She dropped her dustcloth to a chair, scanning his face intently. "What's wrong, Bruce? You look all frazzled out." He could not know how she feared his answer. "Nothin'," he evaded. "He's been pretty bad an' I've missed sleep lately; that's all." But that explanation did not satisfy Nora. She knew it was not the whole truth. She searched his face suspiciously. "She ... his wife," he went on, steadying his voice. "It's hard on her, Nora." "I know it is, poor thing," she replied, almost mechanically. "I talk to her every time I can, but she, she ain't my kind, Bruce. You know that. The' ain't much I can say to her. Besides, I dasn't let on that I know who she is or that you've got her husband." Her eyes still held on his inquiringly. "You might get her outdoors," he ventured. "Keepin' in that room day an' night, worryin' as she does, is worse 'n jail. You ... You ride a lot. Why don't you get her some ridin' clothes an' take her along? I'll tell Nate to give you an extra horse. You see...."