"Oh, I'm not so kind as you think!" He laughed, an honest humor rising to infrequent expression. "I've got to see Lightnin' myself before I go. He hasn't signed the deed yet, and—"
"I really can't see what he's got to do with it!" Millie interrupted. "The place is mother's. Oh, well"—she sighed and shook her head in despair—"I suppose to be safe his signature must be obtained. I do hope he'll turn up before you leave. It's too bad—"
"Well, if he doesn't, maybe you and Mrs. Jones can make him see the light. I'll leave the papers with you, and when he signs them you can send for me and I'll be up and—"
"You don't know how much I appreciate all you've done for us. Now don't say it's nothing." Millie turned and put her hand on his arm, her eyes resting intently on his.
He bent over her for a minute, then straightened up as he heard a slight movement in the portière, a gleam of wisdom illuminating his face. He smiled with a nonchalant disregard of his former intention and backed away from the girl.
Millie's color mounted her forehead. Shyly she withdrew her hand from his arm and fumbled with the bunch of keys about her neck. After an awkward silence she continued:
"You've been so good to us. When mother and I've been in such distress that we did not know where to turn and mother was nearly frantic, you come forward and in no time arrange everything so that mother and daddy are going to be better off than they ever dreamed of. For years, you know, mother and I have worried about her and daddy's old age. Piece by piece we've sold the land and the timber. Even if this place does pay it will only be running expenses, with nothing saved up, as you said. And then the Nevada divorce laws might change. Oh! You've been so kind," she breathed, in deep sincerity.
"Now don't make me ashamed," Thomas coaxed in his soothing way, backing slowly toward the stairs on the California side. "What I've done is just the simplest thing in the world. I grew to be very fond of you when you were in my office, Millie, and I'm glad to be of what service I can."
As he was half-way up the stairs, Mrs. Jones emerged from behind the portière. He stopped and bent in a nattering bow, a twinkle in his eye. "Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones!" he called down.
"Oh, excuse me!" Mrs. Jones, a guilty conscience bringing his courtly sarcasm, which would otherwise have escaped her gullible nature, into notice, stepped back, turning to the kitchen, whence she had come when she stopped to listen. But Millie followed her, and, with arm around her waist, drew her into the room and seated her near the table.