Jane's intuition told her that Lassiter had never been a father,
but if life ever so blessed him he would be a good one. Fay,
also, must have found that smile singularly winning. For she
edged closer and closer, and then, by way of feminine
capitulation, went to Jane, from whose side she bent a beautiful
glance upon the rider.
Lassiter only smiled at her.
Jane watched them, and realized that now was the moment she
should seize, if she was ever to win this man from his hatred.
But the step was not easy to take. The more she saw of Lassiter
the more she respected him, and the greater her respect the
harder it became to lend herself to mere coquetry. Yet as she
thought of her great motive, of Tull, and of that other whose
name she had schooled herself never to think of in connection
with Milly Erne's avenger, she suddenly found she had no choice.
And her creed gave her boldness far beyond the limit to which
vanity would have led her.
"Lassiter, I see so little of you now," she said, and was
conscious of heat in her cheeks.
"I've been riding hard," he replied.
"But you can't live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. Won't
you come here to see me--oftener?"
"Is that an order?"
"Nonsense! I simply ask you to come to see me when you find
time."
"Why?"
The query once heard was not so embarrassing to Jane as she might
have imagined.
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