“Maybe I can do Bart a trifle of good in spots,” he said, as he stood before her. “And I’ll guarantee not to do him any great amount of harm.”
“Thanks,” she said, rising to face him and extending her hand. “I knew you’d do it.”
Carver retained the hand and leaned to kiss her as she stood looking up at him. The girl stepped back and studied him, evidencing no annoyance but seeming rather to try to determine the thought which had occasioned the act and searching for a possible trace of disrespect. Carver met her eyes fairly.
“You oughtn’t to have smiled just at that particular moment,” he said.
“You see, you are irresponsible,” she pointed out. “That’s exactly what Bart would have done. You yield to any passing whim.”
“That wasn’t any passing whim,” he corrected. “It was one powerful impulse; and it’s permanent—not passing. It’s related to to-day and five weeks ago Tuesday, and I’m hoping it’s related to to-morrow.”
She disregarded this except for an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
“But you will remember about Bart,” she urged.
“I’ll try and collect all Bart’s loose ends and shape him up into one solid pattern of propriety,” he promised. “You won’t hardly know him for the same party after I’ve worked him over.” He swung to the saddle. “But I’ll have to put in considerable time over here conferring with you if we’re going to make a success out of Bart.”
He turned his horse to leave but the approaching rider had hastened through the last belt of trees and he now held up a hand and signalled Carver to wait. Lassiter pulled up his horse abruptly as he discovered Carver’s identity.