"When will you come?—to-morrow?"
"Is nine o'clock too early?"
Jane reflected that her father left for business at half-past eight. "Nine to-morrow," she said. "Good-by again."
As she was mounting her horse, she saw "the Cossack girl," as she was calling her, writing away at the window hardly three feet above the level of Jane's head when she was mounted, so low was the first story of the battered old frame house. But Selma did not see her; she was all intent upon the writing. "She's forgotten me already," thought Jane with a pang of jealous vanity. She added: "But SHE has SOMETHING to think about—she and Victor Dorn."
She was so preoccupied that she rode away with only an absent thank you for the small boy, in an older and much larger and wider brother's cast-off shirt, suspenders and trousers. At the corner of the avenue she remembered and turned her horse. There stood the boy gazing after her with a hypnotic intensity that made her smile. She rode back fumbling in her pockets. "I beg your pardon," said she to the boy. Then she called up to Selma Gordon:
"Miss Gordon—please—will you lend me a quarter until to-morrow?"
Selma looked up, stared dazedly at her, smiled absently at Miss Hastings—and Miss Hastings had the strongest confirmation of her suspicion that Selma had forgotten her and her visit the instant she vanished from the threshold of the office. Said Selma: "A quarter?—oh, yes—certainly." She seemed to be searching a drawer or a purse out of sight. "I haven't anything but a five dollar bill. I'm so sorry"—this in an absent manner, with most of her thoughts evidently still upon her work. She rose, leaned from the window, glanced up the street, then down. She went on:
"There comes Victor Dorn. He'll lend it to you."
Along the ragged brick walk at a quick pace the man who had in such abrupt fashion stormed Jane Hasting's fancy and taken possession of her curiosity was advancing with a basket on his arm. He was indeed a man of small stature—about the medium height for a woman—about the height of Jane Hastings. But his figure was so well put together and his walk so easy and free from self-consciousness that the question of stature no sooner arose than it was dismissed. His head commanded all the attention—its poise and the remarkable face that fronted it. The features were bold, the skin was clear and healthy and rather fair. His eyes—gray or green blue and set neither prominently nor retreatedly—seemed to be seeing and understanding all that was going on about him. He had a strong, rather relentless mouth—the mouth of men who make and compel sacrifices for their ambitions.
"Victor," cried Selma as soon as he was within easy range of her voice, "please lend Miss Hastings a quarter." And she immediately sat down and went to work again, with the incident dismissed from mind.