“Oh, business—business” said Gavan Blake.
“What’s doing with you?”
“Doing! By Gad, I’m broke. The old man won’t give me a copper. What about Saturday? Are you going to the Court at Ballarook?”
“Yes. I’ve got a couple of cases there. And I’ve just got a letter from Mrs. Gordon, asking me to stay the night at Kuryong.”
“Ho! My oath! Stop at Kuryong, eh? That’s cause you saved the heiress? Well, go in and win. You won’t know us when you marry the owner of Kuryong. What’s she like, Gav? Pretty girl, ain’t she? Has she any sense?”
“Much as you have,” growled Blake.
“Oh, don’t get nasty. Only I thought you were a bit shook on the governess there—what about that darnce at the Show ball, eh? I say, you couldn’t lend us a tenner till Saturday?”
“No, I could not—” And this was the literal truth, for Gavan Blake had run himself right out of money, and was living on credit—not an enviable position at any time, and one doubly insupportable to a man of his temperament. And again his thoughts went back to the girl he had saved, and he pondered how different things might have been—might, perhaps, still be.
CHAPTER XI.
A WALK IN THE MOONLIGHT.
The Court at Ballarook was over, and Gavan Blake turned his horses’ heads in a direction he had never taken before—along the road to Kuryong. As he drove along, his thoughts were anything but pleasant. Behind him always stalked the grim spectre of detection and arrest; and, even should a lucky windfall help to pay his debts, he could not save the money either to buy a practice in Sydney or to maintain himself while he was building one up. He thought of the pitiful smallness of his chances at Tarrong, and then of Ellen Harriott. What should he do about her? Well, sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. He would play for his own hand throughout. With which reflection he drove into the Kuryong yard.