He leaned over, fists on the desk. "Is that all you can think of, Helen? Of the forest? Isn't there something else? Can't you think of me—just a little?"
Her face grew troubled.
"I wish you wouldn't, Milt. Love is a big, big thing; the forest is a big, big thing. I haven't time for more than one big job."
He looked at her with his jaw set strangely and after a moment breathed: "Sometimes I hate this damned forest!"
She started sharply. He moved away.
"Milt Goddard!" The man whirled then.
"I mean it," he cried. "It stands between you and me! It's all you seem to think about. It'll be years yet before you can win out, if you ever win, and those are the years I want with you. The years you need to be loved and have somebody to stand between you and trouble."
"If you hate the forest, how could you be happy with me? The forest is my life." She had risen and looked reproachfully at him. "I do need you. I do depend on you. You do stand between me and trouble. Without you as my foreman, how could I manage?"
"It might be different; I might not hate it, if it didn't stand between you and me."
"Then you don't hate it for any other reason? You are—just jealous of it, Milt?"
"Perhaps I am!" he flared. "Perhaps I'm just crazy jealous of it as I am of every other man who looks twice at you—Who's this Taylor?"
The girl lifted a hand in hopeless gesture and shook her head. "Milt, you make it so hard for yourself and me. You know who he is, and you know why he is here."
