and feel there was something he was not going to let her help him
with. And it made her sick at heart; for surely he knew what she was
driving at, driving at and edging away from, and if he could have
laughed at her fears wouldn't he have done so? She thought of all Deane
had done for her, borne for her. It would be bitter indeed if it were
really true she was bringing him any new trouble. But how _could_ it be
true? It seemed too preposterous; surely she must be entirely on the
wrong track, so utterly wrong that he had no idea what it was she had in
mind.

As they sat there for a moment in silence she was full of that feeling
of how much Deane had done for her, of a longing to do something for
him. Gently she said: "I must have made things very hard for you, Deane.
The town--your friends--your people, because of me you were against them
all. That does make things hard--to be apart from the people you are
with." She looked at him, her face softened with affectionate regret,
with a newly understanding gratitude. "I've not been very good for your
life, have I, Deane?" she said, more lightly, but her voice touched with
wistfulness.

He looked at her, as if willing to meet that, as if frankly considering
it. "I can't say that you've been very good for my happiness, Ruth," he
laughed. And then he said simply, with a certain simple manliness, "But
I should say, Ruth, you have been very good for my life." His face
contracted a little, as if with pain. That passed, and he went on in
that simple way: "You see you made me think about things. It was because
of you--through you--I came to think about things. That's good for our
lives, isn't it?" That he said sternly, as if putting down something
that had risen in him. "Because of you I've questioned things, felt
protest. Why, Ruth," he laughed, "if it hadn't been for you I might have
taken things in the slick little way _they_ do,"--he waved a hand off
toward the town. "So just see what I owe you!" he said, more lightly, as
if leaving the serious things behind. Then he began to speak of other
things.

It left Ruth unsatisfied, troubled. And yet it seemed surely a woman
would be proud of a man who had been as fine in a thing, as big and true
and understanding, as Deane had been with her. Surely a woman would be
proud of a man who had so loyally, at such great cost, been a woman's
friend, who, because of friendship, because of fidelity to his own
feeling, would stand out that way