The rough places of life had been padded for all these young women. Never before had they come so close to its raw, ugly seams. The shadow of the law, the sacredness of caste, had always guarded them.
India turned upon her brother big dilated eyes. "He said Kilmeny. Who can the man be?"
"I don't know." He was silent a moment in frowning thought, struck by an unwelcome idea. "You remember Uncle Archie. He had a son named Jack who lives somewhere in Colorado. D'ye remember he came home when you were a little kiddie? Stopped at granddad's."
The girl nodded. "He fought you once, didn't he?"
The captain nodded. The doubt began to grow into certainty. "Thought I had seen his face before. He's our cousin Jack. That's who he is."
"And now he's a highwayman. By Jove, he doesn't look it," contributed Farquhar.
"I don't believe it. Such nonsense!" flamed Moya.
"Fancy! A real live highwayman to supper with us," Joyce reminded them with sparkling eyes.
"I'm sure he isn't. There must be a mistake."
"He was troubled about something, Moya," Lord Farquhar suggested. "He and his friend were riding fast and plainly in a hurry."