She rose and moved about the desk toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He dropped his gaze and plucked at a paper.
"I know that, Milt," she said. "I know you'd do anything for me. There is—there's nothing between Mr. Taylor and me. Please believe that." Her color had mounted.
"I know there ain't—much—yet—" he mumbled. "I don't want there to be, because—"
"I'm waiting," when he did not finish.
He looked up at her and was again assured when he saw the sober query in her face.
"So am I—waitin' to be sure. But I'd take a chance at being wrong, at being unfair to anybody for you—unfair to anybody, let alone him!"
An hour later the lights were out and in the men's shanty snores were heavy, but Goddard lay awake, flushed with helpless anger. It was little satisfaction to know that his groundless warning had troubled Helen. The time might come when he would be called to explain and he was seized with an agony of helplessness.
There in the lamplight, she had looked so lovely, so wonderful! She was not his kind, she was finer, gentler, of different stuff, but for five years he had served her loyally, had worked night and day, had fought for her on occasion; and through these years he had come to covet her, come to picture without good reason her life united with his. There had been no opposition, no competition except the gulf between them until this Taylor came. From the first he had sensed the fact that the city man was nearer Helen than he ever could
