Ruth's lips fell apart. She stared for a moment in sheer astonishment. Then she paled with anger. Drawing herself to her full height, she asked:
“Are you deliberately trying to make me despise you?”
“By no means,” replied the other, quite cheerfully. “I am merely giving you something to think about, zat is all.”
“Rubbish!” was all that Ruth flung over her shoulder as she walked away.
CHAPTER V.
It was the noon hour. Scores of men were resting in the shade of the huts as she strode briskly past. They all smiled cheerily, but there was good humoured mockery in their smiles. Here and there were groups of women talking earnestly, excitedly.
Abel Landover was leaning in his doorway, watching her approach. His eyes gleamed. She was very beautiful, she was very desirable. She had been in his mind for months,—this fine, strong, thoroughbred daughter of a thoroughbred gentleman. His sleeves were rolled up, his throat was bare; his strong, deeply lined face was as brown as a berry; if anything, his cold grey eyes were harder and more penetrating than in the days when they looked out from a whiter countenance. He was a strong, dominant figure despite, the estate to which he had fallen,—a silent, sinister figure that might well have been described as “The Thinker.” For he was always thinking.
“I understand you tackled the 'boss' this morning, Ruth,” he said as she came up.
“I daresay the news is all over the island by this time,” she replied, still angry.