"I've always understood that he was a good rider and a good shot," Diane admitted. "I've no doubt that in battle he would conduct himself like a hero."
The girl's head went up proudly, and from the languorous eyes there came one splendid flash before the lids fell over them again.
"I know he would; and when a man has that sort of courage he's worth saving."
"You admit, then, that he needs to be—saved?" Again the heavy lids were lifted for one brief, search-light glance.
"Yes; I admit that. I believe he has wronged you. I can't tell you how I know it; but I do. It's to tell you so that I've asked you to come here. I hoped to make you see, as I do, that he's capable of doing it without appreciating the nature of his crime. If we could get him to see that—"
"Then—what?"
"He'd make you reparation."
"Are you so sure?"
"I'm very sure. If he didn't—" The consequences of that possibility being difficult of expression, she hung upon her words.
"I should be sorry to have you brought to so momentous a decision on my account."