Taylor did not remain long at the door; he went out upon the porch again, leaving her in the room, and after a long time she joined him, her eyes moist, but a smile on her lips.
“You’ll leave his things there—a little longer, won’t you? I should like to have them, and I shall come for them, some day.”
“Sure,” he said. “But, look here, Miss Harlan. Why should you take his things? Leave them here—and come yourself. That room is yours, if you say the word. And a half-interest in the ranch. I was going to offer your father an interest in it—if he had lived——”
He realized his mistake when he saw her eyes widen incredulously. And there was a change in her voice—it was full of doubt, of distrust almost.
“What had father done to deserve an interest in your ranch?” she demanded.
“Why,” he answered hesitatingly, “it’s rather hard to say. But he helped me much; he suggested improvements that made the place more valuable; he was a good man, and he took a great deal of the work off my mind—and I liked him,” he finished lamely.
“And do you think I could do his share of the work?” she interrogated, looking at him with an odd smile, the meaning of which Taylor could not fathom.
“I couldn’t expect that, of course,” he said boldly; “but I owe Harlan something for what he did for me, and I thought——”
“You thought you would be charitable to the daughter,” she finished for him, with a smile in which there was gratitude and understanding.
“I am sure I can’t thank you enough for feeling that way toward my father and myself. But I can’t accept, you know.”