Kate’s eyes opened wider.
“Of course we are against each other, as long as you are against Charlie. But only in our—official capacities.” A whimsical smile stole into the woman’s eyes. “Oh, you are so—so obstinate,” she cried in mock despair. “In this valley it is no trouble for me to watch your every move, and, in Charlie’s interests, to endeavor to frustrate them. But the worst of it is I’d—I’d like to see you win out. Instead of that I know you won’t. You’ve had some news. You had it yesterday, I suppose, by that patrol. Maybe it’s news of another cargo coming in, and you are getting ready to capture it, and—Charlie. I’m not here to give any one away, I’m not here to tell you all I know, must know, living in the valley, but you are doomed, utterly doomed to failure, if you count the capture of Charlie success.”
In spite of the lightness of Kate’s manner her words were not without their effect upon Fyles. There was a ring of sincerity in them that would not be denied. But its effect upon him was not that which she could have wished. His face set almost sternly. The challenge of the woman had stirred him out of his calm assurance, but it was in a direction which she could scarcely have expected. He thrust his sunburned face forward more aggressively, and challenged her in return.
“What is this man to you?” he demanded, his square jaws seeming to clip his question the more shortly.
In a moment Kate’s face was flushing her resentment. Her dark eyes were sparkling with a sudden leaping anger.
“You have no right to—ask me that,” she cried. But Fyles had committed himself. Nor would he draw back.
“Haven’t I?” he laughed harshly. “All’s fair in love and—war. We are at war—officially.”
The woman’s flushing cheeks remained, but the sparkle of her eyes had changed again to an ironical light.
“War—yes. Perhaps you’re right. The only courtesies recognized in war are observed in the prize ring, and in international warfare. Our warfare must be less exalted, and permits hitting—below the belt. I’ve told you what Charlie is to me, and I have told you truly. I am trying to defend an innocent man, who is no more to me than a brother, or—or son. I am doing so because of his peculiar ailments which make him well-nigh incapable of helping himself. You see, he does not care. His own safety, his own welfare, are nothing to him. It is for that reason, for the way he acts in consequence of these things, that all men believe him a rogue, and a—a waster. I tell you he is neither.”
She finished up a little breathlessly. She had permitted her loyalty and anxiety to carry her beyond the calm fencing she had intended.