Rupert stepped back and gazed at her. "By Jove, how beautiful you are," he whispered. "You look simply——" He searched for an adjective in vain.
Ruby gave a satisfied smile. She was really in love with Rupert, and she valued his opinion as much or more than she would have valued the opinion of a woman friend—or enemy.
Remarkably good-looking, of a type of beauty rather unusual, she had found the stage an excellent matrimonial market. But life had taught her that love was to be given, not sold. Unfortunately, she had given it to a penniless young man whose heritage was as unstable as the bog on which his house was built. But he was strong, he was clean, he was young. And he had won her.
"We shall have to hurry up or we shall miss the train," she cried. "I wish we could motor down, but I suppose that's impossible."
Rupert laughed light-heartedly and emptied the contents of his pockets on to the table.
"Every penny I possess in the world is on Paulus. I've backed it at 'sevens' already, you know. It'll cost a couple of pounds to get on to the stand. We shall have to train it, my dear, and walk down the course."
Ruby glanced ruefully at her long narrow shoes and silk stockings. "Right ho! I believe I'd walk through your Devonshire bogs if you asked me. But I say, Rupert, suppose Paulus doesn't win? What on earth are we going to do?"
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. If I pass my final—well, I suppose I shall get a job somewhere and the old man will be so pleased that he'll forgive me.... I'll manage somehow. Find tin in an old disused mine we've got on our property, and float a company."
He spoke lightly, but a shadow crossed his face. He looked at Ruby again and found himself wondering how much her clothes had cost, how much money they had managed to waste together during the happy months they had known one another. And then, again, he saw the queer eerie little farmhouse lying tucked between the granite tors: on one side of it the Dart purred to the sea; stretching away to the left a few fields surrounded by stone walls and the cattle standing in the green grass. And beyond, the vast peat bogs with the rushes flinging their white seed to the wind, and creeping up the hills the purple heather with patches of wild gorse; and little Marjorie milking the cows, scalding the cream, and making the butter.
If he had failed in his final examination? His body grew suddenly cold, he shuddered. He could not face his father then.