But the older man was paying strict attention to his horse, his lips set in forbidding lines.
David yielded to one of his sudden impulses.
“Of course,” he burst out; “you won’t care; you’ve got your money out of it; but Barbara is deucedly unhappy.”
“Ah?”
Jarvis’s note of interrogation was barely audible.
“You know, I suppose, for it’s become town-talk long ago, that somebody bid her in—a thundering shame I call it—and then failed to show up. She considers herself bound, since she used the money—or part of it. I’d like mighty well to get hold of the person, male or female, who’s skulking behind the contract—as she persists in regarding it.”
“Why? What’s wrong with the transaction?”
Jarvis’s tone asked for information merely, but David flashed a suspicious look at him.
“Do you know anything about it?” he demanded.
“Do I—know anything about Miss Preston’s affairs?” echoed Jarvis. “Isn’t that a singular question for you to put to me?”