A miner with a dinner bucket was coming toward them. Moya spoke quickly.
"I want to see you ... alone. I've something important to tell you."
His cool eyes searched her face alertly. "Come up with me to the old Pandora dump."
They took a side street that ran up the hill, presently came to the end of it, and stopped at the foot of a trail leading to the abandoned shaft-house.
The girl fired her news at him point blank. "Mr. Verinder has found out what you mean to do to-night and you are to be trapped."
"What I mean to do?" he repeated.
"About the ore--shipping it or something. I don't know exactly--somebody was drinking and talked, I think."
Moya, watching Kilmeny's face, saw only the slightest change. The eyes seemed to harden and narrow the least in the world.
"Tell me all you know about it."
She repeated what Joyce had overheard, adding that her friend had asked her to tell him.
The faintest ironic smile touched his face. "Will you thank Miss Seldon for me, both for this and many other favors?"
"You don't understand Joyce. You're not fair to her," Moya said impulsively.
"Perhaps not." A sudden warmth kindled in his eyes. "But I know who my real friends are. I'm fair to them, neighbor."
The color beat into her face, but she continued loyally. "May I ... assume you have a kindly interest in Joyce?"
"I'll listen to anything you care to tell me. I owe my friend, Miss Dwight, that much."
"She told me ... a little about you and her. Be fair to her. Remember how she has been brought up. All her life it has been drilled into her that she must make a good match. It's a shameful thing. I hate it. But ... what can a girl like Joyce do?"
"You justify her?"
"I understand her. A decision was forced on her. She had no time to choose. And--if you'll forgive my saying so--I think Joyce did wisely, since she is what she is."
"Of course she did," he answered bitterly.
"Think of her. She doesn't love him, but she sacrifices her feeling to what she considers her duty."
"Shall we substitute ambition for duty?"
"If you like. Her position is not a happy one, but she must smile and be gay and hide her heartache. You can afford to be generous, Mr. Kilmeny."
"I've been a fool," he admitted dryly. "The turn that things have taken is the best possible one for me. But I'm not quite prepared to thank Miss Seldon yet for having awakened me."
She saw that his vanity was stung more than his heart. His infatuation for her had been of the senses. The young woman shifted to another issue.