Moya choked on her words. "I know I shall, Joy."
Miss Seldon looked at Jack with an expression in which embarrassment and audacity were blended. "I've always rather liked your pauper," she confided aloud to Moya.
Her confidences had their limits. She omitted to mention what had just popped into her mind, that within the fortnight he had proposed to her too on the same spot.
Jack bowed with exaggerated deference when she shook hands with him. He was just now riding the seventh wave of happiness and felt friendly to the whole world.
"Thanks very much. You're a good scout, Joyce."
"Good gracious! What may that be? Some more of your American slang, I suppose." She broke away from persiflage to add seriously: "You're right about one thing, though. You've got the best girl in the world. Be good to her, Jack Kilmeny."
With that she turned and walked down the hill.
The other two walked up.
"I'm so proud of you, Jack, boy," whispered one of them.
He laughed happily. "I'm proud of myself. I've done the best day's work I ever did for myself when I won Moya Dwight."
"You know what I mean, Jack. What other man would have thrown away a small fortune--all he had--just for me?"
"I can name one other," suggested Kilmeny.
"Ned! But he's a saint."
"And I'm a sinner," her lover replied blithely.
"You're the sinner I love, then."
They had reached a clump of firs. Without knowing how it happened she found herself in his arms. There were both tears and laughter in her eyes as her lips turned slowly to meet his.
"The first time since we were kiddies on the Victorian, sweetheart," he told her.
"Yes, it's true. I loved you then. I love you now.... Jack, boy, I'm just the happiest girl alive."
A mist-like veil of old rose hung above the mountain tops. Hand in hand they watched the rising sun pierce through it and flood the crotches of the hills with God's splendid canvases. It was a part of love's egoism that all this glory of the young day seemed an accompaniment to the song of joy that pulsed through them.
Later they came to earth and babbled the nonsense that is the highest wisdom of lovers. They built air castles and lived in them, seeing life through a poetic ambient as a long summer day in which they should ride and work and play together.
At last she remembered Lady Farquhar and began to laugh.
"We must go down and tell her at once, Jack."
He agreed. "Yes, let's go back and have it out. If you like you may go to your room and I'll tackle her alone."