She began her answer to his last contention, and he listened gratefully. "But suppose, just suppose, that the reasons I have given are the only ones?--that there is no question of my not wanting to know you?" "Then I'd go on urging like Sam Scratch," he said quickly. "Because, you see, I've always noticed that folks that incline to anything are much more open to hearing the case stated. But if you did have that other reason up your sleeve, if you didn't want to know me, if--if, well, if you thought my feelings oughtn't to be hurt just because you had a good job with me..." Here, his calm consideration of a possibility was swamped by the fear that it was an actuality, and he lost the thread of his reasoning. "Well, anyway, all you have to do is to say the word and I'll clear out. "And with no hard feelings; it would be just a case of bad luck for me. So be honest, Miss Mason, please, and tell me if that's the reason--I almost got a hunch that it is." She glanced up at him, her eyes abruptly and slightly moist, half with hurt, half with anger. "Oh, but that isn't fair," she cried. "You give me the choice of lying to you and hurting you in order to protect myself by getting rid of you, or of throwing away my protection by telling you the truth, for then you, as you said yourself, would stay and urge." Her cheeks were flushed, her lips tremulous, but she continued to look him frankly in the eyes. Daylight smiled grimly with satisfaction. "I'm real glad, Miss Mason, real glad for those words." "But they won't serve you," she went on hastily. "They can't serve you. I refuse to let them. This is our last ride, and... here is the gate." Ranging her mare alongside, she bent, slid the catch, and followed the opening gate. "No; please, no," she said, as Daylight started to follow. Humbly acquiescent, he pulled Bob back, and the gate swung shut between them. But there was more to say, and she did not ride on. "Listen, Miss Mason," he said, in a low voice that shook with sincerity; "I want to assure you of one thing. I'm not just trying to fool around with you. I like you, I want you, and I was never more in earnest in my life. There's nothing wrong in my intentions or anything like that. What I mean is strictly honorable--" But the expression of her face made him stop. She was angry, and she was laughing at the same time. "The last thing you should have said," she cried. "It's like a--a matrimonial bureau: intentions strictly honorable; object, matrimony. But it's no more than I deserved. This is what I suppose you call urging like Sam Scratch."