"Look here," he said; "I got what you wanted,
didn't I? There's no use of gettin' mush headed about it. I'd have
blowed the money just as quick, if I'd wanted to."
"But you didn't."
"Because you didn't want me to, I reckon?" he sneered.
"No. Because you wanted to be fair."
He had not known what sort of an answer he had expected from her, but
the one he got embarrassed him. He felt a reluctant pleasure over the
knowledge that she had faith in him, but mingling with this was a rage
against himself over his surrender. When she turned from him and
walked over to Dade, speaking to him in a low voice, he could not have
told which affected him most, his rage against himself or his
disappointment over her abrupt leave-taking. She irritated him, but
somehow he got a certain pleasure out of that irritation--which was a
wholly unsatisfying and mystifying paradox. He covertly watched Dade
during her talk with him and discovered that he did not like the way
the young man looked at her; he was entirely too familiar even if he
was a friend of the family. He saw, too, that Betty seemed to be an
entirely different person when talking to Dade. For one thing she
seemed natural, which she didn't seem when talking to him. Until he
saw her talking with Dade he had been able to see nothing in her manner
but restraint and stiff formality, but figuratively, when in Dade's
presence she seemed to melt--she was gracious, smiling, cordial.
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