The gauntlet had been thrown
down--because of this girl beside him. It was not so much business
acumen as it was the antagonism of a rival that had prompted the move.
Keith squared his shoulders, and mentally took up the gauntlet. He might
lose in the range fight, but he would win the girl, if it were in the
power of love to do it.
"Why that tone? I hope it isn't--will it inconvenience you?"
"Oh, no. No, not at all. No--" Keith seemed to forget that a
superabundance of negatives breeds suspicion of sincerity.
"I'm afraid that means that it will. And I'm sure Sir Redmond never
meant--"
"I believe that kid has got a bite at last," Keith interrupted, getting
up. "Let me take hold, there, Dorman; you'll be in the creek yourself in
a second." He landed a four-inch fish, carefully rebaited the hook, cast
the line into a promising eddy, gave the rod over to Dorman, and went
back to Beatrice, who had been watching him with troubled eyes.
"Mr. Cameron, if I had known--" Beatrice was good-hearted, if she was
fond of playing with a man's heart.
"I hope you're not letting that business worry you, Miss Lansell. You
remind me of a painting I saw once in Boston. It was called June."
"But this is August, so I don't apply. Isn't there some way you--"
"Did you hear about that train-robbery up the line last week?" Keith
settled himself luxuriously upon his back, with his hands clasped under
his head, and his hat tipped down over his eyes--but not enough to
prevent him from watching his Heart's Desire.
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