"I am getting that idea, too," said his brother-in-law. "Sybil has been rubbing it into me. I believe it is right enough. But apart altogether from that, frankly I do not like that chap; I don't trust him. I fancy I know a gentleman when I see him."

"All right, all right, my boy, gentleman idea quite right too--but new country, new standards--'Old Family' idea played out, don't you know.

Burke's Peerage not known here--every mug on its own bottom--rather touchy Canadians are about that sort of thing--democracy stuff and all that you know. Not too bad either, eh, what? for a chap who has got the stuff in him--architect of his fortune--founder of his own family and that sort of thing, don't you know. Not too bad, eh, what?"

"I quite agree," cried Jack, "at least with most of it. But all the same I hope you will take the treasurership. Not only will you protect your own and your friends' investments, but you will protect the interests of the Gwynnes. The father apparently is no business man, the son is to be away; anything might happen. I would hate to see them lose out. You understand?"

His brother-in-law turned his eyes upon him, gazed at him steadily for a few moments, then taking his hand, shook it warmly, exclaiming, "Perfectly, old chap, perfectly--good sort, Gwynne--good family. Girl of the finest--hope you put it off, old boy. Madame has put me on, you know, eh, what? Jolly good thing."

"Now what the deuce do you mean?" said Romayne angrily.

"All right--don't wish to intrude, don't you know. Fine girl though--quite the finest thing I've seen--could go anywhere."

His brother-in-law's face flushed fiery red. "Now look here, Tom," he said angrily, "don't be an a.s.s. Of course I know what you mean but as the boys say here, 'Nothing doing!'"

"What? You mean it? Nothing doing? A fine girl like that--sweet girl--good clean stock--wonderful mother--would make a wife any man would be proud of--the real thing, you know, the real thing--I have known her these eight years--watched her grow up--rare courage--pure soul. Nothing doing? My G.o.d, man, have you eyes?" It was not often that Tom Waring-Gaunt allowed himself the luxury of pa.s.sion, but this seemed to him to be an occasion in which he might indulge himself. Romayne stood listening to him with his face turned away, looking out of the window. "Don't you hear me, Jack?" said Waring-Gaunt. "Do you mean there's nothing in it, or have you burned out your heart with those fool women of London and Paris?"

Swiftly his brother-in-law turned to him. "No, Tom, but I almost wish to G.o.d I had. No, I won't say that; rather do I thank G.o.d that I know now what it is to love a woman. I am not going to lie to you any longer, old chap. To love a sweet, pure woman, sweet and pure as the flowers out there, to love her with every bit of my heart, with every fibre of my soul, that is the finest thing that can come to a man. I have treated women lightly in my time, Tom. I have made them love me, taken what they have had to give, and left them without a thought. But if any of them have suffered through me, and if they could know what I am getting now, they would pity me and say I had got enough to pay me out. To think that I should ever hear myself saying that to another man, I who have made love to women and laughed at them and laughed at the poor weak devils who fell in love with women. Do you get me? I am telling you this and yet I feel no shame, no humiliation! Humiliation, great heaven! I am proud to say that I love this girl. From the minute I saw her up there in the woods I have loved her. I have cursed myself for loving her. I have called myself fool, idiot, but I cannot help it. I love her. It is h.e.l.l to me or heaven, which you like. It's both." He was actually trembling, his voice hoa.r.s.e and shaking.

Amazement, then pity, finally delight, succeeded each other in rapid succession across the face of his brother-in-law as he listened. "My dear chap, my dear chap," he said when Romayne had finished. "Awfully glad, you know--delighted. But why the howl? The girl is there--go in and get her, by Jove. Why not, eh, what?"

"It's no use, I tell you," said Romayne. "That d.a.m.ned German has got her. I have seen them together too often. I have seen in her eyes the look that women get when they are ready to give themselves body and soul to a man. She loves that man. She loves him, I tell you. She has known him for years. I have come too late to have a chance. Too late, my G.o.d, too late!" He pulled himself up with an effort, then with a laugh said, "Do you recognise me, Tom? I confess I do not recognise myself. Well, that's out. Let it go. That's the last you will get from me. But, Tom, this is more than I can stand. I must quit this country, and I want you to make it easy for me to go. We'll get up some yarn for Sibyl. You'll help me out, old man? G.o.d knows I need help in this."

"Rot, beastly rot. Give her up to that German heel-clicking bounder--rather not. Buck up, old man--give the girl a chance anyway--play the game out, eh, what? Oh, by the way, I have made up my mind to take that treasurership--beastly nuisance, eh? Goin'? Where?"

"Off with the dogs for a run somewhere."

"No, take the car--too beastly hot for riding, don't you know. Take my car. Or, I say, let's go up to the mine. Must get to know more about the beastly old thing, eh, what? We'll take the guns and Sweeper--we'll be sure to see some birds and get the evening shoot coming back. But, last word, my boy, give the girl a chance to say no. Think of it, a German, good Lord! You go and get the car ready. We'll get Sybil to drive while we shoot."

Tom Waring-Gaunt found his great, warm, simple heart overflowing with delight at the tremendous news that had come to him. It was more than his nature could bear that he should keep this from his wife. He found her immersed in her domestic duties and adamant against his persuasion to drive them to the mine.

"A shoot," she cried, "I'd love to. But, Tom, you forget I am a rancher's wife, and you know, or at least you don't know, what that means. Run along and play with Jack. Some one must work. No, don't tempt me. I have my programme all laid out. I especially prayed this morning for grace to resist the lure of the outside this day. 'Get thee behind me--' What? I am listening, but I shouldn't be. What do you say? Tom, it cannot be!" She sat down weakly in a convenient chair and listened to her husband while he retailed her brother's great secret.

"And so, my dear, we are going to begin a big campaign--begin to-day--take the girls off with us for a shoot--what do you say, eh?"

"Why, certainly, Tom. Give me half an hour to get Martha fairly on the rails, and I am with you. We'll take those dear girls along. Oh, it is perfectly splendid. Now let me go; that will do, you foolish boy. Oh, yes, how lovely. Trust me to back you up. What? Don't spoil things.

Well, I like that. Didn't I land you? That was 'some job,' as dear Nora would say. You listen to me, Tom. You had better keep in the background.

Finesse is not your forte. Better leave these things to me. Hurry up now. Oh, I am so excited."

Few women can resist an appeal for help from a husband. The acknowledgment of the need of help on the part of the dominating partner is in itself the most subtle flattery and almost always irresistible. No woman can resist the opportunity to join in that most fascinating of all sport--man-hunting. And when the man runs clear into the open wildly seeking not escape from but an opening into the net, this only adds a hazard and a consequent zest to the sport. Her husband's disclosures had aroused in Sybil Waring-Gaunt not so much her sporting instincts, the affair went deeper far than that with her. Beyond anything else in life she desired at that time to bring together the two beings whom, next to her husband, she loved best in the world. From the day that her brother had arrived in the country she had desired this, and more or less aggressively had tried to a.s.sist Providence in the ordering of events.

But in Kathleen, with all her affection and all her sweet simplicity, there was a certain shy reserve that prevented confidences in the matter of her heart affairs.

"How far has the German got with her? That is what I would like to know," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt to herself as she hastily prepared for the motor ride. "There's no doubt about him. Every one can see how he stands, and he has such a masterful way with him that it makes one think that everything is settled. If it is there is no chance for Jack, for she is not the changing kind." Meantime she would hope for the best and play the game as best she could.

"Would you mind running into the Gwynnes' as we pa.s.s, Tom?" said his wife as they settled themselves in the car. "I have a message for Nora."

"Righto!" said her husband, throwing his wife a look which she refused utterly to notice. "But remember you must not be long. We cannot lose the evening shoot, eh, what?"

"Oh, just a moment will do," said his wife.

At the door Nora greeted them. "Oh, you lucky people--guns and a dog, and a day like this," she cried.

"Come along--lots of room--take my gun," said Mr. Waring-Gaunt.

"Don't tempt me, or I shall come."

"Tell us what is your weakness, Miss Nora," said Jack. "How can we get you to come?"

"My weakness?" cried the girl eagerly, "you all are, and especially your dear Sweeper dog there." She put her arms around the neck of the beautiful setter, who was frantically struggling to get out to her.

"Sweeper, lucky dog, eh, Jack, what?" said Mr. Waring-Gaunt, with a warm smile of admiration at the wholesome, sun-browned face. "Come along, Miss Nora--back in a short time, eh, what?"

"Short time?" said Nora. "Not if I go. Not till we can't see the birds."

"Can't you come, Nora?" said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "I want to talk to you, and we'll drive to-day and let the men shoot. Where is Kathleen? Is she busy?"

"Busy? We are all positively overwhelmed with work. But, oh, do go away, or I shall certainly run from it all."

"I am going in to get your mother to send you both out. Have you had a gun this fall? I don't believe you have," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.

"Not once. Yes, once. I had a chance at a hawk that was paying too much attention to our chickens. No, don't go in, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, I beg of you. Well, go, then; I have fallen shamelessly. If you can get Kathleen, I am on too."

In a few moments Mrs. Waring-Gaunt returned with Kathleen and her mother. "Your mother says, Nora, that she does not need you a bit, and she insists on your coming, both of you. So be quick."

"Oh, Mother," cried the girl in great excitement. "You cannot possibly get along without us. There's the tea for all those men."

"Nonsense, Nora, run along. I can do quite well without you. Larry is coming in early and he will help. Run along, both of you."

"But there isn't room for us all," said Kathleen.

"Room? Heaps," said Mr. Waring-Gaunt. "Climb in here beside me, Miss Nora."

"Oh, it will be great," said Nora. "Can you really get along, Mother?"

"Nonsense," said the mother. "You think far too much of yourself. Get your hat."

"Hat; who wants a hat?" cried the girl, getting in beside Mr.

Waring-Gaunt. "Oh, this is more than I had ever dreamed, and I feel so wicked!"

"All the better, eh, what?"

"Here, Kathleen," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "here between us."

"I am so afraid I shall crowd you," said the girl, her face showing a slight flush.

"Not a bit, my dear; the seat is quite roomy. There, are you comfortable? All right, Tom. Good-bye, Mrs. Gwynne. So good of you to let the girls come."

In high spirits they set off, waving their farewell to the mother who stood watching till they had swung out of the lane and on to the main trail.