"He proved the exception to me, too," said Edgerton, smiling.
"Certainly; wanted to lend me money when I arrived in town on my uppers."
"Oh, he's all right," said Edgerton; "I've known him since he was six and I twelve."
"He--is--all--right," repeated Christine slowly; "but--am I, Jim?"
"But I wrote him that wretched letter. If it hurt him as it hurt me--" She ceased abruptly, and turned her face toward the window.
"_Years_, sweetness.... Do you think your father will ever stand for him?"
"He scarcely knows him. He did not understand why Mr. Inwood never came to Hot Springs, or why I never again saw him. Probably he supposes I lost interest."
"So your father believes that you are all over that affair, doesn't he?"
"Yes; but he probably remembers that Mr. Inwood was to have come to Hot Springs, and didn't. Fathers usually remember such things, and sometimes ask why."
"Well, Christine," he said, smiling, "you'll have to fix it with your father; and I think you can."
"Because there is much of your father in you--steel under the velvet skin of that pretty figure, or I miss my guess."
The girl said thoughtfully: "I am, perhaps, more like father than Jack is.... That is not really what concerns me.... Has Mr. Inwood changed--in appearance?"
"Within a year? No! Nor otherwise, I'll wager."
"I don't know; I don't know, little girl. Men are protean creatures; God knows what incarnation they'll assume next! ... But if a woman really cares for a man, and if he isn't in love with anybody else, it _ought_ to be a cinch--even if he had as many incarnations as Albert Chevallier!"
"Well, I know my sex," he said; "the cleverest of them are boobs in the hands of yours----"
"That means I'm becoming truthful. Hooray! I see Bill's happy finish." He picked up her soft little hand and kissed it. "Velvet and steel," he said--"the hand that rocks the world! Yes? No? Good-by, you little wretch! I'm going canoeing with my cousin Diana."
"Did you say that mother has that telegram?" she asked naïvely, sliding from the window-sill to the floor.
"Yes; and it's a mile long--a bally serial, Christine--to be continued this evening, I expect."
They clasped hands at the threshold; then she ran upstairs, and he sauntered out to the tennis court, where Diana still sat on her high perch knitting the silken tie, although below her the game had ended and the players had gone to the terrace for iced tea.