"I'm glad to see you up again--so glad, Mr. Kilmeny."
In the pretty breakfast gown which displayed her soft curves and the ripe roundness of throat and arm she made a picture wholly charming. If Jack was overpowered he gave no sign of it.
"Glad to meet you, Miss Seldon."
Her eyes rained sweet pity on him, a tenderness potent enough to disturb the serenity of any young man not in armor.
"We--we've been so worried about you."
He laughed, genially and without resentment. "Awfully good of you. Shall I ring for the waiter?"
India rose. "I'm going riding with Ned and Moya," she explained.
Alone with the Westerner, Joyce felt her blood begin to quicken.
"Are you quite ... recovered?" she asked.
Their eyes met. In his there was a faint cynical smile of amusement.
"Quite."
She understood the double meaning in his words. Her lashes fell to the soft cheeks, then lifted again. "I thought perhaps there might be ... that you might still be...."
He shook his head vigorously. "It was only a dream. I can laugh at it now--and at myself for taking it seriously."
Joyce bit her lip with vexation. There was something not quite decent in so prompt a recovery from her charms. He did not appear to hold even any resentment.
Nor did he. Kilmeny had been brought too near the grim realities to hold any petty pique. He found this young woman still charming, but his admiration was tinctured with amusement. No longer did his imagination play upon her personality. He focused it upon the girl who had fought for his life against the ridicule and the suspicions of her friends. It was impossible for him to escape the allure of her fine sweet courage so gallantly expressed in every look and motion.
But Moya let him severely alone. Her pride was suffering because she had showed to all her little world too keen an interest in him. In her anxiety to repudiate any claim he might think she felt she had upon him the girl was scornfully indifferent to his advances. Almost rudely she rejected his gratitude.
"The man does not owe me anything. Can't he see that honors are easy?" she said impatiently to Lady Farquhar.
Jack Kilmeny was no quitter. He set that lean jaw of his and would not accept repulse. In four days now the Farquhar party was going to leave Goldbanks and he made the most of his time.
Moya never saw him coming toward her without having her pulses stirred, but her look met his always quietly and steadily. Not once did she give him a chance to see her alone. Even Lady Farquhar, who had been a severe critic of her vagaries, commended now her discretion. Jack rebelled against it in vain. He could not find a chance to speak. It was characteristic of him that he made one.