The Vision of Desire Part 17

"Pleased?" His eyes rested on her with a species of repressed annoyance.

"It doesn't make much difference whether we're--either of us--pleased or not, does it?"

His meaning appeared perfectly plain to Ann. For some reason which she could not fathom he found her appearance on the scene the very reverse of pleasing.

"I don't see that it matters in any case," she replied frostily. "The fact that I happen to be your agent's sister doesn't compel you to see any more of me than you wish to."

"True. And if I'd known you were here I wouldn't have come blundering in this morning."

"I arrived yesterday," vouchsafed Ann. "Won't you sit down?" she added with perfunctory politeness. She seated herself, and in obedience to her gesture he mechanically followed suit.

"Yes, you were expected to-day, weren't you? I'd forgotten," he said abstractedly.

No one particularly enjoys being a.s.sured that they have been forgotten, and Ann's eyes sparkled with suppressed indignation.

"Can I give my brother any message for you?" she asked stiffly.

All at once he smiled--that sudden, singularly sweet smile of his which transformed the harsh lines of his face and which seemed to have so little in common with his habitual brusqueness.

"I've been behaving like a boor, haven't I?" he admitted. "Forgive me. And can't we be friends? After all, I've some sort of claim. I pulled you out of Lac Leman--or rather, prevented your tumbling into it, you know."

He spoke with a curious persuasive charm. There was something almost boyishly disarming about his manner. It was as though for a moment a p.r.i.c.kly, ungracious husk had dropped away, revealing the real man within.

He held out his hand, and as Ann laid hers within it she felt her spirits rising unaccountably.

"I hope you'll like it here," he pursued. He glanced round with a discontented expression. "Does the cottage furniture satisfy you? Is it what you like?"

"It's perfectly charming," she replied whole-heartedly. "I love old-fas.h.i.+oned things."

"Well, if there's anything you'd like altered or want sending down, you must let me know. There are stacks of stuff up at Heronsmere."

"You've already sent down the one thing to complete my happiness," she answered, smiling. "That jolly little pony."

"Oh, d.i.c.k Turpin. Do you like him?"

"Is that his name? Yes, I like him immensely. Thank you so much for sending him." She paused, then added rather shyly: "I always seem to be thanking you for something, don't I? First for rescuing my bag at the Kursaal, then for rescuing me, and now for d.i.c.k Turpin!"

"You can't do without a cob"--briefly. "Do you ride?"

She nodded.

"Yes. I thought of riding him sometimes. Does he ride all right?"

"Oh, he's quiet enough. But if you want to hunt next winter, you must let me mount you." His glance rested on her slim, boyish contours. "I've a little thoroughbred mare up at Heronsmere--Redwing, she's called--who would carry you perfectly."

"Oh, I couldn't--you mustn't--" she began with some embarra.s.sment.

"Nonsense!" He interrupted her brusquely. "What are you going to do down here if you don't ride and drive? Lovell will have his work. But you won't."

"I'm proposing to keep chickens," announced Ann. "I'm not in the least an idle person. You lose the habit if you've earned your own living for several years," she added, with a touch of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Have you done that?"

She a.s.sented.

"Of course I have. You can't live on air, you know, and as my father didn't leave us much else, Robin and I both had to work."

He regarded her with brooding eyes. She was so gay and cheery about it all that, against his will, his thoughts were driven back amongst old memories, recalling another woman he had known who had chosen to escape from poverty by a different road from the clean, straight one of hard work. She had funked the sharp corners of life, that other, in a way in which this girl with the clear, brown-gold eyes that met the World so squarely would never funk them.

Before he could formulate any answer there came the sound of the house-door opening and closing. He rose hastily from his chair.

"Ah! That must be your brother!" he exclaimed, a note of what sounded almost like relief in his voice. He seemed glad of the distraction, and shook hands cordially with Robin when he came in.

"I'm sorry I was out," began the latter. But Coventry cut short his apologies.

"Don't apologise," he said. "It has given Miss Lovell and myself the opportunity of renewing our acquaintance."

Robin looked from one to the other in surprise.

"Have you met before, then?" he asked.

Ann explained.

"At Montricheux," she replied. "Mr. Coventry saved me from a watery grave on the night of the Venetian Fete there."

"From nothing more dangerous than a wetting, actually," interpolated Coventry in his abrupt way.

"Well, even that's something to be thankful for," returned Robin, smiling.

"Will you smoke?"

He offered his cigarette-case, and the two men lit up.

"I've just been over to see Farmer Sparkes," he continued. "He's put in a list as long as your arm of repairs he wants doing."

Coventry laughed good-humouredly.

"I suppose they'll all be sticking me for alterations and repairs now I've come back," he said. "What's the use of a landlord unless you can squeeze something out of him?"

"I'm afraid there is a bit of that att.i.tude about most tenants," admitted Robin. "I expect the new owner of the Priory will get let in for the same thing. One or two of the Priory cottages want doing up, it's true."

"Have you seen her yet, Robin?" inquired Ann quickly, with feminine curiosity.

"Mrs. Hilyard, do you mean? No, I didn't come across her this morning."

"_Who_ did you say?" asked Coventry.

Something in the quality of his voice brought Ann's eyes swiftly to his face. All the geniality had gone out of it. It was set and stern, and there was an odd watchfulness in the glance he levelled at Robin as he spoke.

"Mrs. Hilyard--the new owner of the Priory," explained Robin. "She arrived yesterday."

"Hilyard?" repeated Coventry. "Some one told me the name was Hilton. You don't know what Hilyard she is, I suppose?"