Find some excuse to tell her.

Say you thought it over, believed she'd be distressed about what might never happen.

Go--and afterward pray for your sins, you queer, good-natured, love-meddling cowboy-devil, you!" For once I had no retort ready for Sally.

I hurried off as quickly as I could walk in chaps and spurs.
I found Miss Sampson sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree.

Her pallor and quiet composure told of the conquering and passing of the storm.