This was a time for broad policy--
for distribution of cassavi bread, yams and papaws, for big, and maybe
rough, display of power and generosity. He was not blind to the fact
that he might by discreet courses impress favourably his visitor. All he
did was affected by that thought. He could not but think that Sheila
would judge of him by what he did as much as by what he said.
He looked at her now with interest and longing. He loved to hear her
talk, and she had information which was no doubt truer than most he
received--was closer to the brine, as it were.
"What more can you tell me of Mr. Calhoun and his doings?" he asked
presently. "He is lucky in having so perfect a narrator of his
histories--yet so unexpected a narrator."
A flush stole slowly up Sheila's face, and gave a glow even to the roots
of her hair. She could not endure these references to the dark gulf
between her and Dyck Calhoun.
"My lord," she said sharply, "it is not meet that you should say such
things. Mr. Calhoun was jailed for killing my father--let it be at that.
The last time you saw me you offered me your hand and heart.
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