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The leaping fires of the man’s passion surged up in face of the rebuff. For a brief moment he contemplated the smiling eyes in their wonderful framing of vivid hair, which the slouch-brimmed hat she was wearing failed to conceal. Then his lips obeyed his impulse.

“Yes, I know, Claire,” he said, his voice harshened by emotion. “You won’t, you can’t accept my help. Why? I’ll tell you. Because I don’t belong to you. Because I want to marry you, am crazy with love for you, and you don’t feel like falling for my notion. So you can’t have the thing I want to do for you like I never wanted to do for anybody ever before. I guess you’re right enough in your own lights, sure you are. You’re not putting yourself under obligation to the feller you don’t fancy to marry. But why not marry me, Claire? Maybe I’m not a thing of beauty. But I guess I just love you to death. Maybe you don’t care a thing for the picture I make now, but you’ll get used to it. Sure you will.” He laughed a little bitterly. “I guess folks can get used to most things after a while.” Then his smile passed. “But, my dear, ther’s not a thing in the world I wouldn’t do to give you a real dandy life. These oil wells out here are going to pass me a fortune that I’m crazy to share with you. Won’t you? No. You won’t. I can see it in your eyes, the same as I’ve seen it before. But—but if I’ve still got to stand for that, there’s things I won’t stand for. You need help and I’ll raise all the hell I can to pass it you.”