She shook her head. "That part of my life is over--quite over. I have come into reality, and--Charlie--it is better than any dream. That is why I want all that is evil to be taken away. If Jake has ever wronged you, then I have wronged you. And I appeal to your kindness of heart, your generosity, for forgiveness."
The mischief died out of the eyes that watched her. Saltash bent a little over the hands he held. "But why should you take that trouble--if I have ceased to count?" he said.
"You do count," she answered quickly and earnestly.
"Surely not if--as you say--it is out of my power to hurt him." There was a hint of banter in the words, but they held no venom.
"It isn't that," she said. "I want to know that the hatchet is buried, that there will be no more ill feeling. Jake is his own master, and I know he will make his mark. But I want him to have a fair chance, free from all handicap."
"What do you mean by that?" Saltash suddenly broke in. "I presume he is still a paid servant though it may no longer be my privilege to employ him."
She lifted her head a little. "No. Jake is his own master. The Stud was bought with my money. It belongs to him."
Saltash's brows went up. "Your money? You never had any!"
"Never before last winter," she said. "I inherited a very large fortune from my uncle in the North. It came to me--just in time."
Saltash's brows were working up and down like a monkey's. "And you--bought the Stud? Then all this American business was bunkum! Did my agent know of this?"