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Cecil G. H. Mauburn had left for Montana City to put the Bines home in order. Uncle Peter and Mrs. Bines had now determined to go, leaving Percival to follow when he had closed his business affairs. "It's like starting West again to make our fortune," said Uncle Peter. He had suffered himself to regain something of his old cheerfulness of manner.
Cecil G. H. Mauburn, mentioned in the above cable despatch, has been rather well-known in New York society for two years past. His engagement to the daughter of a Montana mining magnate, not long deceased, has been persistently rumoured." Mauburn was pale under his freckles. "Have they seen it yet?" "I don't think so," she answered. "We might drop these papers over the rail here."
The only point where his plans had failed was in Mrs. Wybert's refusal to consider Mauburn after the birth of the Casselthorpe twins. Yet he felt that matters, in spite of this happening, must go as he wished them to.
And that poor little Florence Akemit, isn't it too bad about her. You know one of those bright French women said it's so inconvenient to be a widow because it's necessary to resume the modesty of a young girl without being able to feign her ignorance. No wonder Florence has a hard time of it; but isn't it wretched of me to gossip? And I wanted to tell you especially about Mr. Mauburn.
Joseph Drelmer to the Hon. Cecil G. H. Mauburn, New York. EN ROUTE, August 28th. MY DEAR MAUBURN: Ever hear of the tribe of Bines? If not, you need to. The father, immensely wealthy, died a bit ago, leaving a widow and two children, one of the latter being a marriageable daughter in more than the merely technical sense.
"I have seemed to be getting on," answered Mauburn. "But wait a bit. There's that confounded girl over there. No telling what she'll do. She might knock things on the head any moment." "All the more reason for prompt action, and there couldn't very well be anything to hurt you." "By Jove! that's so; there couldn't, very well, could there? I'll take your advice."
And so it befell that Mauburn and Miss Bines sat late on deck that night, and under the witchery of a moon that must long since have become hardened to the spectacle, the old, old story was told, to the accompaniment of the engine's muffled throb, and the soft purring of the silver waters as they slipped by the boat and blended with the creamy track astern.
He rejoined his companion, who had been chatting with a group of women near the door, and they walked away. "Isn't she a stunner!" exclaimed Mauburn. "She is a peach!" replied Percival, in tones of deliberate and intense conviction. "Whoever she is, I'll meet her to-morrow and ask her what she means by pretending to see anything in Milbrey. This thing has gone too far!"
If you can't skin yourself you can hold a leg while somebody else skins. But you ain't met my expectations, I'll say that." And he shook hands cordially with the Englishman. "I say, you know," said Mauburn later to Psyche, "why should I skin myself? Why should I be skinned at all, you know?" "You shouldn't," she reassured him.
They found Psyche already radiant, though showing about her eyes traces of the storm's devastations. Mauburn was looking happy; also defiant and stubborn. "Mr. Bines," he said to Uncle Peter, "I hope you'll side with me. I know something about horses, and I've nearly a thousand pounds that I'll be glad to put in with you out there if you can make a place for me."
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