“Not exactly. What’s the feminine?”
She laughed and rose.
“You are almost human to-night.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to have a little talk with your father.”
“Good luck. I’m going to have a fresh pot of coffee. I shall want to keep awake to-night.”
“Oh, just an idea. You’d better turn in when the interview is over. Good luck.”
Jane stood framed in the doorway for a moment. Under the reading lamp in the main salon she saw Cleigh. He was running the beads from hand to hand and staring into space. Behind her she heard Dennison’s spoon clatter in the cup as he stirred the coffee.
Wild horses! She felt as though she were being pulled two ways by wild horses! For she was about to demand of Anthony Cleigh the promised reparation. And which of two things should she demand? All this time, since Cleigh had uttered the promise, she had had but one thought—to bring father and son together, to do away with this foolish estrangement. For there did not seem to be on earth any crime that merited such a condition. If he humanly could—he had modified the promise with that. What was more human than to forgive—a father to forgive a son?