steel doors, the convict still scrubbing at the floor affected him now with no sense of chill; Varge would never speak. He was cordial to Willett—apologetic for Varge.
"Yes, sir," said the guard affably, pocketing Merton's dollar; "they're a hard lot—sympathy's lost on 'em."
Willett left him at the warden's door.
"Well," said the warden, with a smile, "your visit didn't last very long, but it seems to have done you good."
"Yes"—Merton glanced at the grey eyes, saw the frank smile, and smiled in return. "Yes; I think it has. I can't say that it has been quite as I had intended and hoped—Varge seemed to resent my coming—but I feel, at least, that I have done my duty."
Warden Rand nodded his head.
"Yes," he said, with unaffected sincerity; "and you have a right to feel so. Few would have acted as you have done." He rose from the desk. "And now," he laughed pleasantly, dismissing the subject, "duty done, if you are ready, we'll go over to the house and have dinner."
The hour that followed for Merton over the warden's table was an hour that seemed strangely genuine compared with the hours of the month and more just past. He laughed and talked through it all—mostly with Janet Rand. And after dinner he stayed on, while the warden returned to his office.
He was a good talker, pleasant-mannered, and now with the uplift upon him and the presence of this girl who attracted him, he exerted himself to the utmost to be entertaining and agreeable—or perhaps, better, gave
