ustice of
it is that I 'read' with him, so to speak, with a view to these very
bush bullies and up-country larrikins. They're too free with their
tongues when they're in a good temper, and with their fists when they're
not. I suffered from them in early youth, Moya, but I don't fancy I
shall suffer any more."

Moya was not so sure. She caught herself matching Theodore and another
in her mind, and was not ashamed of the side she took. It made no
difference to her own quarrel with the imaginary champion; nothing could
or should alter that. But perhaps she had been ungenerous. He seemed to
think so. She would show him she was neither ungenerous, nor a coward,
before she was done. And after that the deluge.

Hereabouts Moya caught Theodore watching her, a penny for her thoughts
in either eye. In an instant she had ceased being disingenuous with
herself, and was hating him heartily for having triumphed over an
adherent of Rigden, however mistaken; in another she was sharing that
adherent's suspicions; in a third, expressing them.

"I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Spicer was quite right!"

"In accusing me of inspiring the police?"

"You suspected the truth last night. Oh, I saw through all that; we
won't discuss it. And why should you keep your suspicions to yourself?"

Bethune blew a delicate cloud.

"One or two absurd little reasons: because I was staying in his house;
because you were engaged to him; because, in spite of all temptations,
one does one's poor best to remain more or less a gentleman."

"Then why did you go with the policemen?"

"To see what happened. I don't honestly remember making a single
comment, much less the least suggestion; if I did it was involuntary,
for I went upon the clear understanding with myself that I must say
nothing, whatever I might think. I was a mere spectator--immensely
interested--fascinated, in fact--but as close as wax, if you'll believe
me."

Moya did believe him. She knew the family faults; they were bounded by
the family virtues, and double-dealing was not within the pale. And Moya
felt interested herself; she wished to hear on what pretext Rigden had
been arrested; she had already heard that it was slender.

"Tell me what happened."

Theodore was nothing loth: indeed his day in the bush had been better
than Moya's, more exciting and unusual, yet every whit as typical in its
way. Spicer had led them straight to the clay-pans where Rigden had
struck his alleged trail, and