"His mother turned him over to me to make a man of him, and if she hadn't I owed it to his father's son."
Her eyes poured upon him their warm approving light. "Yes, you would have to help him, no matter what it cost."
He protested against heroics with a face crinkled to humor. "It wasn't costing me a cent."
"It might have cost you a great deal. Suppose that Captain Kilmeny had picked up his gun. You couldn't have shot him."
"I'd have told him who I was and why I must have the money. No, Miss Dwight, I don't fit the specifications of a hero."
Moya's lips curved to the sweet little derisive twist that was a smile in embryo. "I know about you, sir."
Kilmeny took his eyes from her to let them rest upon a man and a woman walking the river trail below. The man bowed and the Westerner answered the greeting by lifting his hat. When he looked back at his companion he was smiling impishly. For the two by the river bank were Lord and Lady Farquhar.
"Caught! You naughty little baggage! I wonder whether you'll be smacked this time."
Her eyes met his in a quick surprise that was on the verge of hauteur.
"Sir."