way unrestrainedly to a sense of easy spontaneity in an effort to please and impress her favourably.
Janet Rand was pretty and good fun. He decided mentally that he would see more of her. In the meantime, the day that he had dreaded to face, in anticipation of which he had lain sleepless the night before—and more than one night before that—had turned out to be a red-letter day. He was safe; Varge would never speak—Varge had said so; he had heard it from Varge's lips. And the afternoon had been a windfall of luck; he had not expected to meet any one like Janet Rand—she was a mighty good-looking girl, trim-figured and dainty; a picture of gold hair, and laughing eyes and lips, and charmingly rounded arms exposed by the half-sleeved dress she wore. Yes; he would see more of Janet Rand.
It was quite late in the afternoon, and the warden had come back to the house with a guard and two convicts to have some work started which he wanted done, when Merton left for his drive back to Berley Falls.
Janet, from the front window, watched him drive away; then she turned with a perplexed little frown to her father.
"I can't make up my mind whether I like him or not, dad," she said. "Somehow, he doesn't seem quite natural, but perhaps that may be no more than nervous mannerisms. What I did like about him, though, was his coming here to see that man—that was perfectly splendid of him."
"So it was," agreed the warden. "Yes; so it was. It's a curious case. I've never had anything to do with a man like that before, and I must confess I'm puzzled."
