Without a word, Blake started down the car steps.
“Bring him here at once, Tom,” said Mrs. Blake. 143
Her husband went up beside the motionless figure in the buckboard and held out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Ashton,” he said with matter-of-fact heartiness. “Jenny wants you to come to her. We’re not ready to start, as we were not certain we would be met.”
“Miss––Mrs. Blake wishes me to come!” mumbled Ashton.
“Yes,” said Blake, gripping the other’s hesitatingly extended hand.
Ashton flushed darkly. “But I––I can’t leave the horses,” he replied.
Blake signed to the porter, who hastened forward. “Hold the lines for this gentleman, Sam.”
Ashton reluctantly gave the lines into the mulatto’s sallow hands and stepped from the buckboard. His head hung forward as he followed Blake. But at the foot of the steps he removed his sombrero and forced himself to look up. Isobel was smiling down at him encouragingly. He looked from her to Mrs. Blake, his handsome face crimson with shame.
“How do you do, Lafayette?” Mrs. Blake greeted him with quiet cordiality. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Yes––yes, indeed! I––yes, very!” he stammered, so embarrassed that he would have stuck at the foot of the steps had not Blake started him up with a vigorous boost. 144