Jane gazed at the common old crayon, suddenly flung her arms
round the old man's neck. ``Yes-- father,'' she murmured. ``To
please HER.''

She fled; the old man wiped his eyes, blew his nose and resumed
the careful smoking of the cheap, smelly cigar. He said he
preferred that brand of his days of poverty; and it was probably
true, as he would refuse better cigars offered him by fastidious
men who hoped to save themselves from the horrors of his. He
waited restlessly, though it was long past his bedtime; he yawned
and pretended to listen while Davy Hull, who had called for Jane
in the Hull brougham, tried to make a favorable impression upon
him. At last Jane reappeared-- and certainly Letitia Hastings
would have been more than satisfied.

``Sorry to keep you waiting,'' said she to Hull, who was
speechless and tremulous before her voluptuous radiance. ``But
father didn't like the way I was rigged out. Maybe I'll have to
change again.''

``Take her along, Davy,'' said Hastings, his big head wagging
with delight. ``She's a caution--SHE is!''

Hull could not control himself to speak. As they sat in the
carriage, she finishing the pulling on of her gloves, he stared
out into the heavy rain that was deluging the earth and bending
low the boughs. Said she, half way down the hill:

``Well--can't you talk about anything but Victor Dorn?''