Betty’s irritation expressed itself in the voice, a trifle sharp. “How do you think I can run the Quarter Circle D E without being criticized? I’m there with the men hours and days at a time, and no other woman on the place except old Mandy, who is deaf as a post and can’t see six feet from her nose. If any evil-minded person wants to talk--why, I’ll just have to let him talk.” “On the contrary, I think you ought to have a foreman run the place for you except for some general supervision. It’s not a girl’s business.” “Isn’t it? You never told me so before.” “You never asked me.” “For that matter, I’m not asking you now.” Her manner was dangerously quiet. It suggested banked fires of anger. “But just the same I’m glad to have your opinion.” “I’m glad to give it. I’ve wanted to tell you what I think about it. Understand me. I admire your energy, your enthusiasm, your efficiency. I believe you are running the Quarter Circle D E better than a good many men could do it. That’s not the question. Aren’t you losing something you can’t afford to do without? I can’t go into this in detail. Cattle-raising--ranching--breeding Herefords--it’s a splendid occupation for a man. But there’s a side of it that’s--well, I’d rather you’d turn it all over to Forbes.” “What do you want me to do--stay at home and knit?” “You know what I want as soon as the Sweetwater project is finished.” Betty side-stepped the proposed excursion into sentiment. She was a downright young woman and wanted to know exactly where she stood. “I didn’t know you felt that way about the ranch, Justin. I thought you shared my view, that I was doing something worth while when I raised hundreds of cattle every year to help feed the world. If I had known you thought I was degrading myself--” She stopped, a tremolo of anger in her throat. “I didn’t say that, Betty.” “It’s what you meant.” “No. No, it isn’t. I meant only that--well, there’s something very very precious that some girls have--that you have, Betty--something that’s like the bloom of a peach. If you lose it--well, it’s gone, that’s all.” “And if I do anything that’s worth while--if I pay my way in the world by giving value received--the peach bloom is rubbed off, isn’t it?” she retorted scornfully. “Aren’t there different ways of giving service? We are in danger of forgetting the home, which is the normal place for a young girl.” “Is it? Thought you came from a city where thousands of girls go down to offices and stores every morning to earn a living.” They stood on a small hilltop and looked over a world blanketed in white which flashed back countless gleams of light to the heliographing sun, a world so virgin clean, so still and empty of life, that it carried Betty back to the birthday of the race. She was, miraculously, at the beginning of things again. “You’re not in a city fortunately,” he answered. “There’s no economic pressure on you to fight sordidly for a living.”