I don't care what the evidence is."

"'Fraid that's sentiment. It has a bad look for him."

"Do we desert our friends when things have a bad look for them?"

"Hm! Friends!"

"I used that word," she told him stanchly.

"But you've only talked with the man three times," he answered with a
gleam of friendly malice in his eyes.

"I've talked with Mr. Verinder forty times and I'm less his friend after
each talk," she returned with energy.

"Well, I daresay I've exaggerated the whole matter, my dear. I was just
to give you a hint--no more."

"You've done it, then."

"Strikes me that I've done my duty in the matter."

"You have--admirably," she scoffed.

"It's up to Di now--if you should take a fancy for entertaining your
highwayman again while you're fishing."

"It's not likely that I'll ever see him again."

"I daresay not." He rose and looked across the rushing water. "There's
just one thing I stick out for. Regardless of your interest in him--no
matter what might happen--you wouldn't let things get on another footing
until he has proved his innocence--absolutely and beyond question."

"Isn't that rather an unnecessary condition? I'm not in the habit of
throwing myself at the heads of strangers who are merely casually polite
to me."

He took in her sweet supple slimness, the fine throat line beneath the
piquant lifted chin which mocked his caution, the little imps of
raillery that flashed from the dark live eyes. In spite of a passionate
craving for the adventure of life she had a good deal of reticence and
an abundant self-respect. He felt that he had said more than enough
already.

"Quite right, my dear. I withdraw my condition."

"It's one I would insist upon myself--if there were any likelihood of
any need of it--which there isn't."

An easy-going man, he did not cross bridges till he came to them. His
wife had persuaded him that Moya needed a talking to, but he was glad
to be through with it.

"Hang the scamp, anyhow!" he laughed. "Maybe he'll break his neck on one
of those outlaw bronchos he's so fond of riding. Maybe they'll put him
safely away in prison, where there is neither marrying nor giving in
marriage. Maybe, as you say, he'll have the bad taste to prefer Joyce to
my little Irish wild rose, in which case he'll be put in his place at
the proper time."

"It's even possible," she added with a murmur of half-embarrassed
laughter, "that if he honored one with an offer--which it has never