Moya stared at her in amaze. "Do you mean that you let Mr. Kilmeny make love to you an hour or two before you became engaged to Mr. Verinder?"
"For Heaven's sake, don't be a prude, Moya," Joyce snapped irritably. "I told you I was fond of him, didn't I? How could I help his kissing me ... or help liking to have him? He ought to be glad. Instead, he insults me." Miss Seldon's self-pity reached the acute stage of sobs. "I was in love with him. Why is he so hard?"
"Perhaps he thinks that since he is in love with you and you with him that gives him some claim," Moya suggested dryly.
"Of course that's what he thinks. But it's absurd. I'm not going to marry Dobyans Verinder because I want to. He knows that as well as you do. Why does he blame me, then? Goodness knows, it's hard enough to marry the man without having my friends misunderstand."
Moya asked an unnecessary question. "Why do you marry him, then?"
"You know perfectly well," flashed Joyce petulantly. "I'm taking him because I must."
"Like a bad-tasting dose of medicine?"
Her friend nodded. "I can't let him go. I just can't. Jack Kilmeny ought to see that."
"Oh, he sees it, but you can't blame him for being bitter."
At the recollection of his impudence anger flared up in Joyce.
"Let him be as bitter as he pleases, then. I happen to know something he would give a good deal to learn. Mr. Jack Kilmeny is going to get into trouble this very night. They've laid a plot----"
She stopped, warned by the tense stillness of Moya.
"Yes?" asked the Irish girl.
"Oh, well! It doesn't matter."
"Who has laid a plot?"
"I've no business to tell. I just happened to overhear something."
"What did you overhear?"
"Nothing much."
"I want to know just what you heard."
Against the quiet steadfast determination of this girl Joyce had no chance. A spirit that did not know defeat inhabited the slender body.
Bit by bit Moya forced out of her the snatch of conversation she had overheard while at breakfast.
"It's a secret. You're not to tell anyone," Joyce protested.
Her friend drummed on the arm of the chair with the tips of her fingers. She was greatly troubled at what she had learned. She was a young woman, singularly stanch to her friends, and certainly she owed something to Verinder. The whole party were his guests at Goldbanks. He had brought them in a private car and taken care of them munificently. There were times when Moya disliked him a good deal, but that would not justify an act of treachery. If she warned Jack Kilmeny--and Moya did not pretend to herself for an instant that she was not going to do this--she would have to make confession to Verinder later. This would be humiliating, doubly so because she knew the man believed she was in love with the Goldbanks miner.