The Highgrader Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  LORD FARQUHAR GIVES MOYA A HINT

  Verinder's man, Biggs, who had been a fascinated spectator of the WildWest sports at Gunnison, was describing them to Fisher, maid to LadyFarquhar and general buttoner-up-the-back to the entire femininecontingent of the party.

  "What do you mean when you say a horse bucks?" she wanted to know.

  "'E throws down 'is 'ead and 'e throws up 'is 'eels and you cawn'tremain," he explained, without entire originality.

  "Fancy now!"

  "Consequence is the rider lands himpromptu on _terra firma_, so tohexpress it."

  "Dear me. But doesn't it make him dusty, Mr. Biggs?"

  "A bit."

  "Couldn't Captain Kilmeny ride one of the bronchos?"

  "I've 'eard that the captain is a crack rider, none better in the harmy,Miss Fisher. 'E could ride the blawsted brute if it wouldn't 'ide itsbloomin' 'ead between its legs."

  Moya, patrolling the willow walk in front of the Lodge, took this inwith a chuckle.

  It was a still night, save only for the rushing waters of the river. Thelamps of the sky had all been lit and were gleaming coldly millions ofmiles away. The shadowed moonlight in the trees offered a stage set tolowered lights.

  The thoughts of the girl had drifted to speculation about thetransplanted countryman of hers whose personality had come to interesther so greatly. He had challenged her trust in him and she had respondedwith a pledge. He had not explained a single one of the suspiciouscircumstances against him. He had not taken her into his confidence, norhad he in so many words declared his innocence. She was glad he had toldher nothing, had demanded her faith as a matter of course. It was partof her pride in him that she could believe without evidence. All theworld would know he was not guilty after he had shown his proofs. Itwould be no test of friendship to stand by him then.

  A step sounded on the gravel behind her and an arm opened to let herhand slip round the elbow.

  "May I stroll out this dance with you, Miss Dwight?" Lord Farquhar askedformally, dropping into step with her.

  Moya and her guardian were kindred spirits. They never needed toexplain themselves to each other. Both knew how to make-believe.

  "If you're not afraid of a scandal at being alone with me so far from achaperone," the girl answered lightly.

  He burlesqued a sigh. "I'm only afraid there won't be any. It's thepenalty of age, my dear. I can claim all sorts of privileges withoutmaking Verinder jealous."

  "Oh, Verinder," she scoffed.

  "Should I have said Kilmeny?" he asked.

  "I'll tell you a secret, guardy," whispered Moya gayly. "You're ahundred years younger than either of them."

  "I wish my glass told me so."

  "Fiddlesticks! Youth is in the heart. Mr. Verinder has never been youngand Captain Kilmeny has forgotten how to be."

  "I fancy Ned would be willing to learn how again if he had the properteacher."

  She gave his arm a little squeeze. "You dear old matchmaker."

  "Heaven forbid! I'm merely inquiring, my dear."

  "Oh, I see--your _in-loco-parentis_ duty."

  "Exactly. So it isn't going to be Ned?"

  She looked across the turbid moonlit river before she answered. "I don'tthink so."

  "Nor Verinder?"

  "Goodness, no!" A little ripple of laughter flowed from her lips beforeshe added: "He's changed his mind. It's Joyce he wants now."

  Farquhar selected a cigar from the case. "Hm! Sure you didn't change itfor him?"

  A dimple flashed into her cheeks. "I may have helped a little, but nothalf as much as Joyce."

  "That young woman is a born flirt," Lord Farquhar announced, his beardand the lower part of his face in the sudden glow of the lighted match."Upon my word, I saw her making eyes at your highwayman the night we hadhim here."

  There was a moment's silence before she answered. "Anybody could seethat he was interested in her."

  "It doesn't matter to me who interests him, but I can't have any of mywards being romantic over a Dick Turpin," he replied lightly.

  She was standing in the shadow, so that he could not see the dye sweepinto her cheeks.

  "I'm afraid he is going to disappoint you. He's not a highwayman atall."

  "Did he tell you so?"

  "No. But I know it."

  "Looks to me as if he might make a good one. The fellow is cool as acucumber and afraid of nothing on two legs or four."

  "You forget he is India's cousin."

  "No, I'm remembering that. His father had a devil of a temper and hismother was as wild as an unbroken colt when I met her."

  "They weren't thieves, were they?" she flashed.

  He gave her his frank smile. "You like this young man, Moya?"

  "Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

  "Why not--if you don't like him too well?"

  "So that's why you came out here--sent by Lady Farquhar to scold me--andI thought you had come because you like to be with me."

  "One reason doesn't preclude the other."

  "I've known for several days she had it on her mind--ever since we sawMr. Kilmeny on Sunbeam Creek."

  "Come; let us reason together," he invited cheerfully. "We'll sit on theend of the wharf and dangle our legs while your guardian finishes hiscigar and does his duty by you."

  They compromised on a wire-woven seat under a cottonwood. Across theriver two fishermen could be seen working down stream close to theopposite shore. The two were Verinder and Captain Kilmeny, though atthat distance they were not recognizable.

  Lord Farquhar seemed in no hurry to begin, nor did Moya attempt tohasten him. His cigar glowed and ashed and glowed again before he spoke.

  "Odd how things work out, my dear. There across the river are two menwho would like to marry you. Both are good matches. One is by way ofbeing a bit of a bounder perhaps, but the other is as fine a fellow asany girl could look for--not brilliant, but no fool either, and assteady as a clock."

  A breath of wind lifted the edge of her white skirt. She followed thewoman's instinct to tuck it safely under her before making demureanswer. "Captain Kilmeny is his own certificate of merit. Any praise issurplusage."

  He shrugged. "That's the perversity of it. You see all his merits andthey don't touch you."

  With a vivacious little turn that was wholly charming she turned merrilyupon him. "Are you by any chance proposing for him, Lord Farquhar?"

  "Hasn't he proposed for himself?" her guardian asked bluntly.

  "I believe he has."

  "And you--didn't see it?"

  "I couldn't."

  "Sorry." He looked at the tip of his cigar and brushed away the ash."Because he's a no end good sort."

  "You don't know that any better than I do. Don't think I can't see allthe advantages of it. I do. I want to say 'Yes,' but--well, I can't.That's all."

  "On account of the other man?" he questioned gently.

  "I haven't mentioned any other man," she cried, her face in a flame.

  "No, I mentioned him. Devilish impudent of me, if you want to take itthat way, Moya. But, then, as you've said, I'm _in loco_. Got to grubaround and find out how you feel."

  "Lady Jim has been poking you up and telling you it's your duty," shetold him in derision.

  "I daresay. I'm a lazy beggar. Always shirking when I can."

  "Lady Jim isn't lazy."

  "Di does her duty even when it isn't pleasant. Pity more of us don't."

  "Meaning that it is my unpleasant duty to marry Mr. Verinder's money?"

  "Hang Verinder and his money. I'm no end glad you can't stand him. Factis, we didn't quite know how bad he was when we asked him to join us."

  "What then?"

  "Well, sure your money isn't on the wrong horse, Moya? Mind, I don't sayit is. I ask."

  "If you mean Mr. Kilmeny, there hasn't been a word between us youcouldn't have heard yourself," the girl told him stiffly.

  "If my memory serves it didn't use to be so much a matter of words.
Whatabout your feelings? Di fancies----"

  "Of course she does. She's always fancying. That's the business of achaperone. It's perfectly absurd," Moya flung back hotly.

  "Glad you see it that way. It wouldn't do, of course."

  She looked directly at him, a challenge in her stormy eyes. "The wholething is ridiculous. The man hasn't given me a second thought. If you'regoing to warn anyone, it ought to be Joyce."

  Lord Farquhar looked straight at her. "Joyce has her eyes wide open. Shecan look out for herself."

  "And I can't?"

  "No, you can't--not when your feelings are involved. You're tooimpulsive, too generous."

  "It's all a storm in a teacup. I've only met him three times to talkwith. He's been friendly--no more. But if he and I wanted to--not thatthere's the ghost of a chance of it, but if we did--I don't see why itwouldn't do."

  "Any number of reasons why it wouldn't. Marriage nowadays isn't entirelya matter of sentiment. You're an Englishwoman. He's an American, andwill be to the end of the chapter."

  "I'm not English; I'm Irish--and the Irish make the best Americans," shetold him sturdily.

  Farquhar ignored her protest. "His ways of thinking are foreign toyours, so are his habits of life. You're a delightful rebel, my dear,but you've got to come to heel in the end. All girls do. It's a rule ofthe game, and you'll have to accept it. No matter how captivating yourhighwayman may be--and upon my word I admire him tremendously--he is notyour kind. He makes his own laws, and yours are made for you."

  "You're making one for me now, aren't you?" she demanded rebelliously.

  "Let's not put it so strong as that. I'm trying to persuade you tosomething of which you are fully persuaded already."

  "I'm not--not in the least. It's absurd to talk about it because the manhasn't the least idea of making love to me. But suppose he wanted to.Why shouldn't I listen to him? You tell me he doesn't have the samelittle conventions as we do. Thank heaven he hasn't. His mind is free.If that condemns him----"

  She broke off from sheer passionate inadequacy to express herself.

  "Those conventions are a part of your life, little girl. Can you imagineyourself sitting opposite him at breakfast for the rest of your naturaldays?"

  "You mean because he is a workingman, I suppose."

  "If you like. You would miss all the things to which you were used. Lovein a cottage isn't practicable for young women brought up as you havebeen."

  "Then I've been brought up wrong. If I were fond enough of the man--butthat's absurd. We're discussing an impossible case. I'll just say this,though. I've never met a man who would be as little likely to bore one."

  "Does his cousin bore you?"

  "No. Captain Kilmeny is interesting in his way too, but----"

  "Well?"

  "His thoughts are all well regulated ones. He keeps to the proper beatentrack." She flung up a hand impatiently. "Oh, I know he's perfect. I'venever been allowed to forget that. He's too perfect. He would let me doanything I wanted to do. I would want a husband--if I ever have one--whowould be strong enough to make me want to do whatever he said."

  Farquhar smiled as he flung his cigar into the river. "That works outbetter in theory than in practice, my dear. It's the little things thatcount in married life. What we need is a love well under control andfriction eliminated."

  "That's not what I want. Give me my great moments, even if I have to payfor them."

  He understood perfectly her eager desire for the best life has to offer.What he was proposing for her was a tame second best. But it was safe,and the first rule of the modern marriage mart is to play the game safe.Yet he had a boyish errant impulse to tell her to cut loose and winhappiness if she could. What restrained him, in addition to what heowed Lady Jim in the matter, was his doubt as to this young man'scharacter.

  "There would be another thing to consider. Kilmeny is under a cloud--apretty serious one. All the evidence connects him with this robbery.Grant that you believe him innocent. Still, a nice girl can't let hername be connected with that of a man suspected of a crime."

  "I'm sure he isn't guilty. I don't care what the evidence is."

  "'Fraid that's sentiment. It has a bad look for him."

  "Do we desert our friends when things have a bad look for them?"

  "Hm! Friends!"

  "I used that word," she told him stanchly.

  "But you've only talked with the man three times," he answered with agleam of friendly malice in his eyes.

  "I've talked with Mr. Verinder forty times and I'm less his friend aftereach talk," she returned with energy.

  "Well, I daresay I've exaggerated the whole matter, my dear. I was justto give you a hint--no more."

  "You've done it, then."

  "Strikes me that I've done my duty in the matter."

  "You have--admirably," she scoffed.

  "It's up to Di now--if you should take a fancy for entertaining yourhighwayman again while you're fishing."

  "It's not likely that I'll ever see him again."

  "I daresay not." He rose and looked across the rushing water. "There'sjust one thing I stick out for. Regardless of your interest in him--nomatter what might happen--you wouldn't let things get on another footinguntil he has proved his innocence--absolutely and beyond question."

  "Isn't that rather an unnecessary condition? I'm not in the habit ofthrowing myself at the heads of strangers who are merely casually politeto me."

  He took in her sweet supple slimness, the fine throat line beneath thepiquant lifted chin which mocked his caution, the little imps ofraillery that flashed from the dark live eyes. In spite of a passionatecraving for the adventure of life she had a good deal of reticence andan abundant self-respect. He felt that he had said more than enoughalready.

  "Quite right, my dear. I withdraw my condition."

  "It's one I would insist upon myself--if there were any likelihood ofany need of it--which there isn't."

  An easy-going man, he did not cross bridges till he came to them. Hiswife had persuaded him that Moya needed a talking to, but he was gladto be through with it.

  "Hang the scamp, anyhow!" he laughed. "Maybe he'll break his neck on oneof those outlaw bronchos he's so fond of riding. Maybe they'll put himsafely away in prison, where there is neither marrying nor giving inmarriage. Maybe, as you say, he'll have the bad taste to prefer Joyce tomy little Irish wild rose, in which case he'll be put in his place atthe proper time."

  "It's even possible," she added with a murmur of half-embarrassedlaughter, "that if he honored one with an offer--which it has neverentered his head to do--one might regretfully decline with thanks."

  "Amen! In the meantime God lead your grace by the hand, as old Baconsays." He brought his heels together, bowed over her fingers, and kissedthem with exaggerated old-fashioned gallantry.

  "Who's being romantic now?" she wanted to know gayly.