In the blindness of his jealousy he construed her words into an admittance that she would have married him if it had not been for De Courcy. They allowed no such interpretation, but jealousy is not shrewd-sighted, and more often than not blunders.
They had not named him "Wild Gus," singling him out from among other wild natures for the epithet, for nothing. All the passions which had been restrained since his advent into society surged upwards and confirmed him in a resolve. With the intention of carrying out that resolve he returned to the tennis lawn.
Daphne, who, in spite of her flippant tongue, was possessed of a very tender heart, was glad to see him, glad to notice the easy way in which he passed from guest to guest talking of quiet matters with that earnestness which had made him popular.
She had been troubled lest he had been too keenly disappointed. She argued that if he cared much he could not hide his hurt so readily. She lacked experience.
Derwent sought out De Courcy and congratulated him with a seeming frankness that completely dispelled the young officer's aversion. Daphne was standing quite close to them, and at the elder man's words was glad.
"I do not pretend," he said, easily, "that we are not all envious, De Courcy. You have gained a very great prize, and we should all be more than human if we were not. But Miss Blakiston's happiness——" His voice faded into an inarticulate murmur.
After dinner he told many stories to De Courcy, strong stories of a man's life in wild lands, and De Courcy told himself that the Derwent fellow was a very decent chap, and that he had underrated him vastly.
"There was little restraint in those early days in Nevada. A man's friendship was true, and his hatred deadly. Vengeance was swift-footed, and I have seen a man anger another and be laid out cold under the blue sky in the very same day."
"Savage, Derwent, savage!" cried the Squire. "I'm glad that we have laws and constables and magistrates here."
"We are all savage underneath."