"You didn't hear what for, I suppose?"
"To speak to Miss Pryse about some important matter; that's all I know."
"I should have thought they'd had enough to say to each other yesterday, to last Gilroy for a bit. I'm mustering, you know; but I heard all about it when I got back to the shed last night. Some of the men came to me in a sort of deputation. They hate Gilroy about as much as I do, and they want him out of that. If he's a sensible man he's come in to chuck up the sponge himself."
Tom Chester flung his saddle and bridle over the rail as they passed the stable, and walked on to the station-yard, and across it to the little white barracks, without another word. Engelhardt followed him into his room and sat down on the bed. He felt that they understood one another. That was what made him say, while Chester was stropping his razor:
"You don't love Gilroy, I imagine."
"No, I don't," replied Tom Chester, after a pause.
"But Miss Pryse does!" Engelhardt exclaimed, bitterly.
The other made a longer pause. He was lathering his chin. "Not she," said Tom, coolly, at length.
"Not! But she's engaged to him, I hear!"
"There's a sort of understanding."