“Soon now we’ll be able to get him back to the ranch and Bridget can take care of him. Ruth’s wearyin’ for you. I’ll be more satisfied when we’re there. I’ve got old Jake Prowers on my mind some. Never can tell what he’ll be up to.” Hollister was grateful to Betty, whether absurdly so or not is a matter of definitions. His big eyes followed her about the room as she cooked custards with the eggs and milk brought from the Howard place just below. “Sweet Marie” did not entrance him when Black tunelessly sang it, but the snatches of song she hummed at her work filled the room with melody for him. She read “David Copperfield” aloud after he began to mend, and his gaze rested on her with the mute admiration sick men are likely to give charming nurses overflowing with good-will and vitality. Her laugh lifted like a lark’s song. Even her smile had the radiant quality of one who is hearing good news. He noticed that she was no longer wearing Merrick’s ring, and his thoughts dwelt on it a good deal. Was the engagement broken? He could not see that she was unhappy. Her presence filled the place with sunshine. It was a joy to lie there and know that she was near, even when she was in another room and he could not see her. There was something permeating about Betty Reed. She lit up men’s souls as an arc-light does a dark street. He hoped that she and Merrick had come to the parting of the ways. The engineer was the last man in the world to make her eager spirit happy. His strength never spent itself in rebellion. He followed convention and would look for the acceptance of it in her. But Betty was cast in another mould. What was important to him did not touch her at all, or, if it did, seemed a worthless sham. She laughed at social usage when it became mere formalism. No doubt she would be a disturbing wife. Life with her would be exciting. That was not what Justin Merrick wanted. The right man for her would be one who both loved and understood. He must be big enough to let her enthusiasms sweep over their lives and must even give them moral support while they lasted. Also, he must be a clean and stalwart outdoor man, not one who had been salvaged from the yellow swamp waters of vice. This last Hollister kept before him as a fundamental necessity. He laid hold of it to stamp down the passionate insurgent longings that filled him.