“She was too young to be allowed to go round that way alone,” he burst out angrily. “There was nobody to take care of her. What good are two old Silurians like me and your father to look after girls? I told him six months ago he ought to get some kind of an old woman in the house who’d knit in corners and hang round after you.”
Rosamund continued her story and he went on with his walk. Now and then, as she alluded to Barclay’s part in the affair, suppressed phrases that were of a profane character broke from him. When she had concluded he stood for a moment by the window looking out.
“Well, the mischief’s been done. He’s made the poor little soul just about as miserable as she can be. I’d like to blow the top of his head off with one of my derringers, but as I can’t have that satisfaction there’s no good thinking of it. All we can do is to try and brace her up some way or other.”
Rosamund made no answer and after a moment of silence, he continued,
“And I suppose it lets poor Rion out?”
“Oh, yes,” breathed Rosamund with a melancholy sigh.
The Colonel walked to the other window muttering in his wrath.
“He was coming down here, Rosie, to ask her. They’ve made a pile of money up there, in this Crown Point business, and they’re buying up all the claims that might have clouded the title of the Cresta Plata. They believe there’s a bonanza there, and the Gracey boys don’t often make mistakes. They’ll be millionaires before they’re done. But that doesn’t count. What does is that Rion Gracey’s the finest man in California, bar none. The woman that he married would be loved and taken care of, the way—the way a woman ought to be. Good Lord, what fools we are and how we tear our lives to pieces for nothing!”
“Don’t blame her, Uncle Jim. She’s just got so fond of that man she hasn’t any sense left.”
“Blame her! Have I ever blamed her? Why, Rosie, I’d die for her. I’ll have to go up to Virginia and put Rion off. What can I say to him?”