At sight of Joan, Prosper had won back instantly his old poise, his
old feeling of ascendancy.
"Joan, Joan," he said gently; "was ever anything so strange? Why
didn't you let me know? Why didn't you answer my letters? Why didn't
you take my money? I have suffered greatly on your account."
Joan laughed. Four years ago she would not have been capable of this
laugh, and Prosper started.
"I wrote again and again," he said passionately. "Wen Ho told me that
you had gone, that he didn't know anything about your plans. I went
out to Wyoming, to our house. I scoured the country for you. Did you
know that?"
"No," said Joan slowly, "I didn't know that But it makes no difference
to me."
They were still standing a few paces apart, too intent upon their
inner tumult to heed any outward situation. She lowered her head in
that dangerous way of hers, looking up at him from under her brows.
Her color had returned and the make-up had a more natural look.
"Maybe you did write, maybe you did send money, maybe you did come
back--I don't care anything for all that." She made a gesture as if to
sweep something away. "The day after you left me in that house,
Pierre, my husband, came up the trail. He was taking after me. He
meant to fetch me home. You told me"--she began to tremble so
violently that the jewels on her neck clicked softly--"you told me he
was dead."
Prosper came closer, she moving back, till, striking the chair, she
sat down on it and looked up at him with her changed and embittered
eyes.
"Would you have gone back to him, Joan Landis, after he had tied you
up and branded your shoulder with his cattlebrand?"
"What has that got to do with it?" she asked, her voice lifting on a
wave of anger. "That was between my man and me. That was not for you
to judge. He loved me. It was through loving me too much, too
ignorantly, that he hurt me so." She choked. "But you--"
"Joan," said Prosper, and he laid his hand on her cold and rigid
fingers, "I loved you too."
She was still and stiff. After a long silence she seemed to select one
question from a tide of them.
"Why did you leave me?"
"I wrote you a full explanation. The letter came back to me unread."