“Come into my room,” said Anderson.

She followed him there, and as he closed the door she answered his questioning look by running into his arms and hiding her face.

“Wal, I’ll be dog-goned!” the rancher ejaculated, with emotion.  He held her and patted her shoulder with his big hand.  “Tell me, Lenore.”

“There’s little to tell,” she replied, softly.  “I love him—­and he loves me so—­so well that I’ve been madly happy—­in spite of—­of—­”

“Is that all?” asked Anderson, dubiously.

“Is not that enough?”

“But Dorn’s lovin’ you so well doesn’t say he’ll not go to war.”

And it was then that forgotten bitterness returned to poison Lenore’s cup of joy.

“Ah!"... she whispered.

“Good Lord!  Lenore, you don’t mean you an’ Dorn have been alone all the time these few days—­an’ you haven’t settled that war question?” queried Anderson, in amaze.

“Yes....  How strange!...  But since—­well, since something happened—­we—­we forgot,” she replied, dreamily.

“Wal, go back to it,” said Anderson, forcibly.  “I want Dorn to help me....  Why, he’s a wonder!...  He’s saved the situation for us here in the valley.  Every rancher I know is praisin’ him high.  An’ he sure treated Neuman square.  An’ here I am with three big wheat-ranches on my hands!...  Lenore, you’ve got to keep him home.”

“Dad!...  I—­I could not!” replied Lenore.  She was strangely realizing an indefinable change in herself.  “I can’t try to keep him from going to war.  I never thought of that since—­since we confessed our love....  But it’s made some difference....  It’ll kill me, I think, to let him go—­but I’d die before I’d ask him to stay home.”

“Ah-huh!” sighed Anderson, and, releasing her, he began to pace the room.  “I don’t begin to understand you, girl.  But I respect your feelin’s.  It’s a hell of a muddle!...  I’d forgotten the war myself while chasin’ off them I.W.W.’s....  But this war has got to be reckoned with!...  Send Dorn to me!”

Lenore found Dorn playing with Kathleen.  These two had become as brother and sister.

“Kurt, dad wants to see you,” said Lenore seriously.

Dorn looked startled, and the light of fun on his face changed to a sober concern.

“You told him?”

“Yes, Kurt, I told him what little I had to tell.”

He gave her a strange glance and then slowly went toward her father’s study.  Lenore made a futile attempt to be patient.  She heard her father’s deep voice, full and earnest, and she heard Dorn’s quick, passionate response.  She wondered what this interview meant.  Anderson was not one to give up easily.  He had set his heart upon holding this capable young man in the great interests of the wheat business.  Lenore could not understand why she was not praying that he be successful.  But she was not.  It was inexplicable and puzzling—­this change in her—­this end of her selfishness.  Yet she shrank in terror from an impinging sacrifice.  She thrust the thought from her with passionate physical gesture and with stern effort of will.