Weston’s face hardened as he looked at him out of half-closed eyes.
“She did not. What makes you suggest it?”
“Well,” said Grenfell, reflectively, “she’s flesh and blood like the rest of us. She’s also a girl with courage enough not to hesitate. I’m not sure”—and he spread out his hands—“that I couldn’t have made better use of your opportunities.”
Weston said nothing, though he was hot with anger; and just then Kinnaird, who appeared in the lighted doorway of the house, moved in their direction. He stopped close beside them.
“I think I would better tell you now that we have decided to leave this place early next week,” he said. “You can see about getting the surplus stores and some of the baggage down the lake to-morrow.”
Weston fancied that he looked at him rather hard; but, though the unexpected news had filled him with dismay, he sat very still until Kinnaird, who said nothing further, turned away. Then Grenfell looked up with a smile.
“The major,” he said, “has perhaps had sufficient fishing, or his precipitation may be due to the fact that Mrs. Kinnaird is not in some respects a friend of yours. I’m rather surprised that Miss Stirling, who must have known it, mentioned the other little matter. Anyway, as you may feel inclined to point out, that’s not my business. The question is what we’re going to do now.”
“Look again for that mine of yours,” said Weston, quietly.
Grenfell made a little sign of comprehension.
“Well,” he said, “we’ll go. What’s more, I know that one of us is going to locate that quartz some day.”