She looked at him, and her blue eyes shone. "Yes," she said softly. "There have been no misunderstandings since then."
He smiled a little with twisted brows. "Do you know who was responsible for that fire?"
She started. "No!"
"A certain scoundrel named Stevens," he said. "The same scoundrel who pulled the Albatross at the Cup Meeting, and was thrashed for it by the virtuous cow-puncher. Do you know who was at the back of that scoundrel?"
Her eyes fell before the grim bitterness of his. "Charlie!" she faltered.
"Yes, Charlie," he said. "Charles Burchester, Lord Saltash, another scoundrel blacker than the first who had suffered a similar punishment for a somewhat similar offence from the same virtuous hands. Scoundrel number one won't trouble you again. I have shipped him off to Australia. Scoundrel number two is awaiting his orders to go to--another place."
Her lips suddenly quivered. She put out a trembling hand. "Charlie, I don't believe it of you!"
"Believe it or not," he said, "it's true. I'm a spiteful devil. You said so yourself a minute ago." But he held her hand almost as one pleading for clemency.
She raised her eyes to his. The fascination of the man drew her, but--possibly for the first time--not against her better judgment. "Let us forget it all!" she said. "Let us be friends!"
He laughed in a fashion that moved her to pity, and bending kissed her hand. "If Jake agrees--Amen!" he said.