"It's too late now," he said.
But it was incredible! Even now he seemed not to see her hand—hers! Vanity invaded her once more, and her gates stood open to the least and meanest of the besetting host. She make advances to him, to the convict's son! What would her people say? What would Toorak say? What would she not say herself—to herself—of herself—after this nightmare night?
And all because (but certainly for the second time) he had taken no notice of her hand!
When found, however, Moya's voice was as cold as her heart was hot.
"Oh, very well! It is certainly too late if you wish it to be so, and in any case now. But may I ask why you are so keen to save me the trouble of saying so?"
Rigden looked past her towards the station, and there were no more high lights in the verandah; but elsewhere there were voices, and the champing of a bit.
"If you go back now," he said, "you will just be in time to hear."
"Thank you. I prefer to have it here, and from you."
Rigden shrugged his shoulders.
"Then I am no longer a free agent. I am here on parole. I am under arrest."