Gheena turned away, looking puzzled.
"Ivery penny he paid me," said Andy deliriously joyful; "an' isn't that same bether than a silver cup on the table at home, Miss Gheena? An' sure, in honour an' glory I was first as well."
They moved on presently to draw a hill from the crest of which one could see the sea plainly.
Gheena began to talk of the submarines, wondering if the menace would ever be carried out.
"They'll want help if they do it," returned Stafford absently—"bases along coasts and ships to supply oil. People will do it. Money can buy anything, Miss Freyne, even some people's honour."
Gheena grew a little pale.
Christmas Day had interfered with stopping. A fox got to ground in covert and Darby decided to go home, glad of the chance, for hounds had had a hard day on Christmas Eve, and Barty was riding the same horse.
Gheena rode back with Darby as far as his turn and then on with Stafford, whose horse jogged dully and without spirit. He only kept one hunter.
It was cold and raw. Gheena missed Phil, when having glacially invited Stafford to tea, she slipped off in the big old yard, waving away proffered help.
"Phil is away with the two horses, Miss, to catch the thrain at the junction."