These were facts of the day and they had made of her a palpitating, unhappy creature, who nevertheless had been brave to face the rancher and confess that which she had scarce confessed to herself.
But now she trembled and cringed on the verge of a catastrophe that withheld its whole truth.
"I begin to see now," she whispered, after the thought had come and gone and returned to change again.

"If Wilson had--cared for me I--I might have--cared, too....

But I do--care--something.

I couldn't lie to dad.
Only I'm not sure--how much.

I never dreamed of--of _loving_ him, or any one.