''
``Mr. Dorn's going to stop a while with me, father,'' interposed
Jane with a significant glance at Victor. ``I want to show him
the grounds and the views.''
``All right--all right,'' said her father. He never liked
company in his drives; company interfered with his thinking out
what he was going to do at the office. ``I'm mighty glad to know
you, young man. I hope we'll know each other better. I think
you'll find out that for a devil I'm not half bad--eh?''
Victor bowed, murmured something inarticulate, shook his host's
hand, and when the ceremony of parting was over drew a stealthy
breath of relief--which Jane observed. She excused herself to
accompany her father to his trap. As he was climbing in she
said:
``Didn't you rather like him, father?''
Old Hastings gathered the reins in his lean, distorted hands.
``So so,'' said he.
``He's got brains, hasn't he?''
``Yes; he's smart; mighty smart.'' The old man's face relaxed in
a shrewd grin. ``Too damn smart. Giddap, Bet.''
And he was gone. Jane stood looking after the ancient phaeton
with an expression half of amusement, half of discomfiture. ``I
might have known,'' reflected she, ``that popsy would see through
it all.''
When she reappeared in the front doorway Victor Dorn was at the
edge of the veranda, ready to depart. As soon as he saw her he
said gravely: ``I must be off, Miss Hastings. Thank you for the
very interesting dinner.
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