He bent forward, looking at the ground. He talked of their first meeting in Wisconsin; of the happiness of their little courtship; he brought up California again, and the Northwest coast, where, he told her, a great railroad was to be built and he should find the chance he needed to make a record for himself--it had been promised him--a chance to be the man his abilities entitled him to be in railroading. "And I've got a customer for the ranch and the cows, Marion. I don't care for this business--damn the cows! let somebody else chase after 'em through the sleet. I've done well; I've made money--a lot of money--the last two years in my cattle deals, and I've got it put away, Marion; you need never lift your hand to work in our house again. We can live in California, and live well, under our own orange trees, whether I work or not. All I want to know is, will you go with me?" "No! I will not go with you, Murray." He moved in his seat and threw his head up appealingly. "Why not?" "I will never be dishonest with you; I never have been and I never will be. I have nothing in my heart to give you, and I will not live upon your money. I am earning my own living. I am as content as I ever can be, and I shall stay where I am and do what I am doing till I die, probably. And this is why I came when you asked me to; to tell you the exact truth. I am not a girl any longer--I never can be again. I am a woman. What I was before I married you I never can be again, and you have no right to ask me to be a hypocrite and say I can love you--for that is what it all comes to--when I have no such thing in my heart or life for you. It is dead and gone, and I cannot help it." "That sounds pretty hard, Marion." "It is only the truth. It sounded fearfully hard to me when you told me that woman was your friend--that you knew her before you knew me and would know her after I was dead; that she was as good as I, and that if I didn't entertain her you would. But it was the truth; you told me the truth, and it was better that you told it--as it is better now that I tell it to you." "I was drunk. I didn't tell you the truth. A man is a pretty tough animal sometimes, but you are a woman and a pure one, and I care more for you than for all the other women in the world, and it is not your nature to be unforgiving." "It is to be honest." He looked suddenly up at her and spoke sharply: "Marion, I know why you won't go." "I have honestly told you." "No; you have not honestly told me. The real reason is Gordon Smith." "If he were I should not hesitate to tell you, Murray, but he is not," she said coldly. Sinclair spoke harshly: "Do you think you can fool me? Don't you suppose I know he spends his time loafing around your shop?" Marion flushed indignantly. "It is not true!" "Don't you suppose I know he writes letters back to Wisconsin to your folks?" "What have I to do with that? Why shouldn't he write to my mother? Who has a better right?"