He was only waiting, Julian said, to get one thing clear. Not his caring! And not any doubt of her. It was only that he couldn't share his wife with anybody, least of all with von Schwarzenberg. "I've got to know what that woman counts for."
"Why don't you find out?" Napier said. His own impatience, his sense of suppressed irritation at the idea of the Schwarzenberg's uncanny hold, surprised Napier—though he would have said it was a natural expression of sympathy for his friend. "I'd find out 'what she counts for' ... if it were my affair!"
"I was going to yesterday," Julian said. "I'm thinking I will to-night."
Napier took out his watch. "Ten minutes to eleven," he remarked.
"Hang the Schwarzenberg!" Her inventing to see Nan home in the motor that evening had been a low-down device to cheat Julian Grant of his rights!
But all the same here he was, briskly leading the way along the cross-cut to the inn. "She's often late getting to bed."
"How do you know?" Napier demanded.
"Going over the hill, I've seen the light in her window.... Do you notice," he broke off to say, "how, when we're sailing, Nan always wants to go farther out?" He waited a moment, eager for Napier's tribute to the spirit of the girl. "And not foolhardy either!"
"You are making a very tolerable sailor of her," Napier admitted.
"Steady as any old hand," the other went on eagerly. "And that woman always interfering. 'Be careful, Nanchen; leave it to Mr. Grant.' 'We must turn back now; look how far we've come!'"