Betty had time to think during the long winter nights after she had retired to her room. Some of her thoughts hurt. She was shocked at the termination of her engagement, at the manner of it. That was not the way it should have been done at all. She and Justin should have recognized frankly that their views of life could not be made to harmonize. They should have parted with esteem and friendship. Instead of which there had been a scene of which she was ashamed. Her cheeks burned when she recalled his crass charge that she was infatuated with Hollister. Why hadn’t he been able to understand that she had signed a pact of friendship with the ex-service man? If he had done that, if he had been wise and generous and sympathetic instead of harsh and grudging, he would (so Betty persuaded herself) have won her heart completely. He had been given a great chance, and he had not been worthy of it. Merrick had humiliated her, shattered for the time at least the gallant young egoism which made her the mistress of her world. Her father came up as soon as he returned from Denver. She talked over with him the break with her fiancé. Clint supported her, with reservations that did not reach the surface. “Never did like it,” he said bluntly, referring to her engagement. “Merrick’s a good man in his way, but not the one for you. I been figuring you’d see it. I’m glad this came up. His ideas about marriage are crusted. He’d put a wife in a cage and treat her well. That wouldn’t suit you, Bess. You’ve got to have room to try your wings.” She clung to him, crying a little. “You don’t blame me, then, Dad?” “Not a bit. You did right. If Merrick had been the proper man for you, he’d have understood you well enough to know you had to come here. Maybe it wasn’t wise to come. Maybe it was impulsive. I reckon most folks would agree with him about that. But he’d have known his Betty. He’d ’a’ helped you, even though it was foolish. You wouldn’t be happy with any man who couldn’t let you fly the coop once in a while.” “Was it foolish to come, Dad?” she asked. He stroked her dark hair gently. “It’s the foolishness we all love in you, honey--that way you have of giving till it hurts.” Betty had inherited her impulsiveness from him. He, too, could be generous without counting the cost. He rejoiced in the eagerness with which her spirit went out to offer the gift of herself. But he had to be both father and mother. Generosity might easily carry her too far. “I do such crazy things,” she murmured. “And I never know they’re silly till afterward.” “This wasn’t silly,” he reassured her. “I’d have figured out some other way if I’d been home. But I wasn’t. Rayburn says your cooking an’ your nursing have helped young Hollister a lot. I’m glad you came, now it’s over with. I reckon you’ve paid my debt in full, Bettykins.” “He’s absurdly grateful,” she said. “I haven’t done much for him. You’d think I’d saved his life.”