She instantly saw her mistake. Callista drew herself sharply from her mother's detaining arms and sat down on the porch edge, hushing the child whom their talk had disturbed. Presently she said—and her voice sounded low, and cold, and clear,
"I have quit Lance Cleaverage. You needn't name his being anywhere that I'm at."
Gentry snorted, and heaved himself up in his chair as though to go into the house.
"I consider that I had good cause to quit him," Callista went on; "but I'm not a-goin' to—"
"I don't want to know yo' reasons!" broke in old Ajax fiercely. "I say, reason! Reason and you ort not to be named in the same day. Yo' mammy spiled you rotten—I told her so, a-many's the time—and now them that wishes you well has to look on and see 280 you hit out and smash things."
The deep, rumbling old voice sank and quavered toward the end.
"I wasn't going to give you any reasons," returned Callista contemptuously. "Them that I've got are betwixt me and Lance—and there they'll always be. I would rather live at home; but I can earn my keep and the chap's anywhere. Shall I go—or stay?"
The old man put down a shaking hand and laid it on her shoulder—a tremendous demonstration for Ajax Gentry.
"You'll stay, gal," he said in a broken tone. "You'll stay, and welcome. But I want you to know right here and now that I think Lance Cleaverage is a mighty fine man. You' my gran'child—my onliest one—I set some considerable store by ye myse'f. But there's nothing you've said or done that gives me cause to change my mind about Lance."
Callista rose, still hushing her boy in her arms.