"About you both. Do you mean to marry her, Tempest?"
"Marry her! God knows I'd have married her long ago if she would have had me! But she's so shy—so delicate and hesitating and shy. I can scarcely get her to talk to me at all. I feel such a rough, clumsy brute beside her."
He broke off, walking across the room hastily. He twitched at the blind as though he had gone to straighten it, and Dick watched him with that dark contemplation shutting down over his face. This was worse than he had expected it. Much worse. Tempest was the kind of man who saw the shining of high stars and the blooming of white flowers wherever he looked. Grange's Andree—Dick knew as much as most people did of Grange's Andree. He had seen her playing cards in the back-parlour; jealous and grasping and ready to cheat with the worst of them. He had seen her drinking with Robison and others in the bar; setting her lips to the glass where theirs had been. He had seen men pass her by with a careless jest and a kiss; he had done it many times himself, for the firm, olive cheek was soft and satin-smooth. He had seen—then he looked again at the still figure in the window.
"I have no right to interfere," he said. "But you can hardly be giving full consideration to the facts of the case. Heavens above. Don't you know what we all think of her?"
Tempest turned and his eyes showed fire.
"I know how men like you can misjudge her. You can't see that she is innocent—ignorant; just a wild thing of the woods. She doesn't know that she needs protection. But I know, and I can't rest—I can't rest—I want to give it to her"
He stopped again, turning back to the window.
"I could hate you all for the way you behave to a child like that," he said.
Dick shrugged his shoulders. He saw too far to be able to see as high as Tempest saw.
"If she objected to us why doesn't she avail herself of your offered protection?" he asked dryly. "Can't you answer that? Grange's Andree wasn't made for the do-
