And now I am waiting for next Saturday. Fancy having you in the
house all day long and in the evening! We must slip away somewhere
for just a little while, so that we can have each other all to
ourselves. Hugh is still worrying about some sheep that he thinks
are stolen. He is always worrying about something or other, and
now that she has come I suppose he will be worse than ever. Now
goodnight, dearest...
Blake read the letter, and threw it down carelessly on the table;
then, leaning back in his chair, cut up a pipeful of tobacco. He
thought over his position with Ellen Harriott. There was a secret
understanding between them, a sort of informal affair born of
moonlight rides and country dances. He had never actually asked
her to marry him, but he had kissed her as he had kissed scores
of others, and the girl had at once taken it for granted that they
were to be engaged. It had not seemed such a bad thing for him at
the time. He was fond of her in a ballroom-and-moonlight-ride kind
of way, but there it stopped. Still, it was not a bad match for
him. The girl was a lady, with friends all over the district. He
was rather near the border-line of respectability, and to marry
her would have procured him a position that he had little chance
of reaching otherwise. He had let things drift on, and the girl,
with her fanciful ideas, was, of course, only too ready to fall in
with the suggestion of secrecy; it seemed such a precious secret
to her. So now he was engaged while still up to his neck in debt;
but worse remained behind. In his business he had sums of money
for investments and for settlements of cases passing through his
hands; and from time to time he had, when hard pushed, used his
clients' money to pay his own debts. Beginning with small sums,
he had muddled along, meaning to make all straight out of the first
big case he had; and each time he had a big case the money seemed
to be all spent before he earned it. He was not exactly bankrupt,
for he was owed a great deal of money, enough perhaps to put him
straight if he could get it in; but the mountain folk expected
long credit and large reductions, and it was pretty certain that he
would never get even half of what he was owed. Therefore, be went
about his business with a sort of sword of Damocles hanging over
his head--and now the heiress had come, and he had saved her life!
His musings were cut short by a tap at the door; a long, gawky
youth, with a budding moustache, entered and slouched over to a
chair. He was young Isaacstein, son of the Tarrong storekeeper, a
would-be sportsman, would-be gambler, would-be lady-killer, would-be
everything, who only succeeded in making himself a cheap bar-room
loafer; but he was quite satisfied that he was the right thing.