He had a pleasant, low voice, very attractive to women; she smiled and listened, offering no comment.
“And I want to assure you,” he ended, “that we at the club will always respect your boundaries as we know you will respect ours. I fear one of our keepers was needlessly rude last night—from his own account. He’s an old man; he supposes that all people know the game laws.”
Lansing paused; she bent her head a trifle. After a silence he started on, saying, “Good-morning,” very pleasantly.
“I wish you would sit down and talk to me,” said the girl, without raising her head.
Lansing was too astonished to reply; she turned her head partly towards him as though listening. Something in the girl’s attitude arrested his attention; he involuntarily dropped on one knee to see her face. It was in shadow.
“I want to tell you who I am,” she said, without looking at him. “I am Eily O’Hara.”
Lansing received the communication with perfect gravity. “Your father owned this land?” he asked.
“Yes; I own it now, … I think.”
He was silent, curious, amused.
“I think I do,” she repeated; “I have never seen my father’s will.”