"Oh, no," she said, "he'd fixed to go to-day, sometime ago."
"Well, he might 've said so," replied McNab. "There was something I wanted to talk to him about, something—partic'lar."
"Can I tell him what it is?"
His eyes fell before the clear innocence of her gaze. He moved uneasily.
"No," he said, "I dursay I'll find time to go and see him up at Steve's one of these days. Tell him that ... I'll come soon." He chuckled a moment. "They tell me," he went on, eyeing her narrowly, "they tell me, he's taken that cub of Cameron's with him."
He did not wait for her reply, but ran on, the malice that was never far from it an undercurrent in his voice again.
"He's not very clever, your father, my dear, for all he's a Schoolmaster, or he wouldn't have done that! Give him my respects and say I hope the hills'll be for the good of his health. And you—I hope you'll be enjoyin' y'rself up there. Though it's no place, to be buryin' the most beautiful woman in the South."
"Well, I'll have to be going now!" Deirdre moved quickly.
He had edged nearer and nearer her, until his breath touched her face as she pulled the strings of her bag together.
"Socks has been saddled this half hour. Father'll be glad to see you any day at Steve's, I'm sure, Mr. McNab," she added, backing towards the door.