“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and there was a thrill in his voice Avice had never heard there before, “I will clear myself of these awful matters, and then I can ask you——”
“But, Kane, you know the note from John Hemingway——”
“Bother John Hemingway! Avice, do you take me for a fool?”
Landon crushed her to him in a desperate embrace, and then held her off and looked at her with a strange expression on his face.
“Dear heart!” he said, and gently kissing her downcast, frightened eyes he went swiftly from the room.
Going to the window, Avice watched him stride down the street. His swinging walk was a splendid thing in itself, and the girl felt a thrill of pride in the strong, well-proportioned figure, so full of life and energy.
“But I can’t understand him,” she thought, “he acts so queer every time he talks about Uncle’s death. And then, he pretends to love me,—and he’s all mixed up with Eleanor,—I wish I could get up courage to ask him about her,—but I’m—oh, I’m not really afraid of Kane—but,—well, he is strong,—every way.”
She sank into a chair and gave herself up to day dreams.
“A bright, new, Lincoln penny for your thoughts,” said a deep voice, and Avice looked up to see Judge Hoyt smiling down at her.
For the first time in her life, she felt an aversion to him. She knew she was not in love with her elderly suitor, but always she had felt great friendship and esteem for him. Now, the esteem was still there, but the remembrance of Landon’s caress so recent, she experienced a shrinking from the passion she could not fail to read in the eyes now bent upon her.