"Worse? I should say so," I replied.

"It'll about kill her. She never cared that way for any man. When the
Sampson women love, they love."

"Well, you're lucky to be a Langdon," I retorted bitterly.

"I'm Sampson enough to be unhappy," she flashed back at me, "and I'm
Langdon enough to have some sense. You haven't any sense or kindness,
either. Why'd you want to blurt out that Jack Blome was here to kill
Steele?"

"I'm ashamed, Sally," I returned, with hanging head. "I've been a brute.
I've wanted her to love Steele. I thought I had a reason, but now it
seems silly. Just now I wanted to see how much she did care.

"Sally, the other day you said misery loved company. That's the trouble.
I'm sore--bitter. I'm like a sick coyote that snaps at everything. I've
wanted you to go into the very depths of despair. But I couldn't send
you. So I took out my spite on poor Miss Sampson. It was a damn unmanly
thing for me to do."

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that. But you might have been less abrupt.
Russ, you seem to take an--an awful tragic view of your--your own case."

"Tragic? Hah!" I cried like the villain in the play. "What other way
could I look at it? I tell you I love you so I can't sleep or do
anything."