In the midst of the lightness of the moment Gordon had suddenly taken a resolve. It was one of those quick, impulsive resolves which were entirely characteristic of him. There was nothing quite clear in his mind as to any reason in his decision. He was caught in the enthusiasm of his admiration of the fair oval face of his hostess, whose unconventional camaraderie so appealed to his wholesome nature; he was caught by the radiance of her sunny smile, by the laughing depths of her perfect hazel eyes. Nor was the manner of the man, her father, without effect upon his responsive, simple nature.
But his sentence on Silas Mallinsbee had caught and held both father's and daughter's attention, and excited their curiosity.
"Why six months?" smiled Hazel.
"Say, it's sure some time limit," growled Mallinsbee.
Gordon assumed an air of judicial severity.
"Is the court to be questioned upon its powers?" he demanded. "There is a law of 'contempt,'" he added warningly.
But his warning was without effect.
"And the innocent's ruin?" demanded Hazel.
The answer came without a moment's hesitation.
"Mine," said Gordon. And his audience, now with serious eyes, waited for him to go on.