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"I could have told you all the time that the scalp Long-Hair brought to you was not Beverley's," said Helm indifferently. "I recognized Lieutenant Barlow's hair as soon as I saw it." This was another piece of off-hand romance. Helm did not dream that he was accidentally sketching a horrible truth. "Barlow's!" exclaimed Farnsworth. "Yes, Barlow's, no mistake "
His muttered comment upon one of his and Beverley's guests, whom he supposed the intruder to be, was far from flattering. Perhaps, however, it would be well not to find his wife alone.
You'll have to in the end." "Shall I?" said Piers. And then suddenly his own sense of humour was kindled again, and he uttered his boyish laugh. "We won't quarrel about it, what?" he said, and stretched a wet hand upwards. "Let's consider the incident closed! There's nothing whatever to be fashed about." Sir Beverley's thin lips twitched a little. He pulled at the hand, and slowly Piers yielded.
Beverley is hot-headed, and if he could he'd get even with you devilish quick; but he hasn't left Vincennes, I think. Miss Roussillon would keep him here if the place were on fire!" Hamilton laughed dryly. He had thought just what Helm was saying. Beverley's attentions to Alice had not escaped his notice. "Speaking of that girl," he remarked after a moment's silence, "what am I do to do with her?
The water dripped from his shoulders. They gleamed in the strong light like a piece of faultless statuary, godlike, superbly strong. But it was upon no splendour of form that Sir Beverley's attention was focussed. He spoke after a moment, an odd note of contrition in his voice. "I didn't mean to mark you like that, boy. It was your own doing of course. You shouldn't have interfered with me.
I felt that Miss Beverley needed protection of some kind, and I was conscious of a keen desire to afford her that protection. In her glance I had read, or thought I had read, an appeal for sympathy. Not the least mystery of Cray's Folly was the presence of this girl. Only toward the end of luncheon had I made up my mind upon a point which had been puzzling me. Val Beverley's gaiety was a cloak.
"It's up to you, Piers," he said. "Is it?" said Piers, with a groan. "Well, let's leave it at that for the present! Sure you've forgiven me?" Sir Beverley's grim face relaxed again. He put his arm round Piers and held him hard for a moment. Then: "Oh, drat it, Piers!" he said testily. "Get away, do! And behave yourself for the future!"
And now that we are on the subject, I will tell you this. If I do not marry this woman whom I love I swear that I will never marry at all! That is my final word!" He hurled the last sentence in Sir Beverley's face, and with it he would have swung round upon his heel; but something in that face detained him. Sir Beverley's eyes were shining with an icy, intolerable sparkle.
His visits to the newcomer's studio began again, and Beverley's picture, now nearing completion, came in for criticism enough to have filled a volume. The good humour with which he received it amazed Annette. Beverley, however, appeared to have no artistic sensitiveness whatsoever.
He drew the form of the weakly resisting girl closer to his heart; again imprinted a kiss upon her lips; and then, while every muscle in his iron frame seemed quivering with emotion, exclaimed, "By Heaven! that touch, that glance, were Clara Beverley's all over!
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