jealousy. He persisted and grew with the old rancher's frank praise.

"I must not think of him," she whispered. "Why, I'll be--be married
soon.... Married!"

That word transformed her thought, and where she had thrilled she now
felt cold. She revolved the fact in mind.

"It's true, I'll be married, because I ought--I must," she said, half
aloud. "Because I can't help myself. I ought to want to--for dad's
sake.... But I don't--I don't."

She longed above all things to be good, loyal, loving, helpful, to show
her gratitude for the home and the affection that had been bestowed upon
a nameless waif. Bill Belllounds had not been under any obligation to
succor a strange, lost child. He had done it because he was big, noble.
Many splendid deeds had been laid at the old rancher's door. She was not
of an ungrateful nature. She meant to pay. But the significance of the
price began to dawn upon her.

"It will change my whole life," she whispered, aghast.

But how? Columbine pondered. She must go over the details of that
change. No mother had ever taught her. The few women that had been in
the Belllounds home from time to time had not been sympathetic or had
not stayed long enough to help her much. Even her school life in Denver
had left her still a child as regarded the serious problems of women.

"If I'm his wife," she went on, "I'll have to be with him--I'll have to
give up this little room--I'll never be free--alone--happy, any more."