Charlton laughed uproariously. ``If you took walks and rides
instead of always sitting round, you never would die,'' said he.
``But you're like lots of women I know. You'd rather die than
take exercise. Still, I've got you to stop that eating that was
keeping you on the verge all the time.''

``You're trying to starve me to death,'' grumbled Hastings.

``Don't you feel better, now that you've got used to it and don't
feel hungry?''

``But I'm not getting any nourishment.''

``How would eating help you? You can't digest any more than what
I'm allowing you. Do you think you were better off when you were
full of rotting food? I guess not.''

``Well--I'm doing as you say,'' said the old man resignedly.

``And if you keep it up for a year, I'll put you on a horse. If
you don't keep it up, you'll find yourself in a hearse.''

Jane stood silently by, listening with a feeling of depression
which she could not have accounted for, if she would--and would
not if she could. Not that she wished her father to die; simply
that Charlton's confidence in his long life forced her to face
the only alternative--bringing him round to accept Victor Dorn.

At her father's next remark she began to listen with a high