Esmond stood silent a moment or two, for his task was becoming unpleasantly difficult; but his bitterness against Ingleby rashly determined him to go on.
"I should prefer not to be more definite—and I'm not sure that it is necessary," he said. "Still, one might, perhaps, venture to warn you that the miners and my troopers, who, of course, have eyes, have already found an entertaining topic."
Grace Coulthurst's face grew a trifle colourless with anger, though she did not quite believe him.
"So you can listen while your policemen discuss—me?" she said.
"No," said Esmond unguardedly. "I would have risked my commission by thrashing the man I heard mention you."
A sardonic gleam crept into Grace's eyes. "Then, since you haven't done it, it is a little difficult to understand how you could be aware of what they are saying."
The man's embarrassment was evident, but it lasted only a moment, and he made a little abrupt gesture.
"I'm no match for you at this game, Grace," he said. "Of course, I'm taking a great liberty, but if you think a little you might find some excuse for me."
"For playing the spy on me?"
Esmond's lips set tight, and the bronze in his cheeks took on a still deeper tinge; but there was, as is usually the case, good as well as evil in him, and he was to some extent endeavouring just then to discharge what he considered a duty.