Ranching for Sylvia Part 35

"You're very generous," said Sylvia, coloring as she took the letter.

"I'm afraid I've behaved badly in not keeping the thing from you; but you see how I was situated, and you'll have to forgive me."

"That isn't difficult," Sylvia told him.

They walked on in silence for a while; and then Bland looked around at her.

"There's a thing I must mention. I've had a hint to ask for a certain post abroad. It is not a very desirable one in some respects, but the pay's pretty good, and it would bring the man who took it under the notice of people who arrange the better Government appointments. I should have to stay out at least two years."

Sylvia was startled, and annoyed. Now that the man owned her sway, she did not mean to accede to his wishes too readily. Some obscure reason made her shrink from definitely binding herself to him, but his intimation had forced on something of the nature of a crisis.

"Do you wish to go?" she asked.

"No," he said hotly; "you know that."

"Then," said Sylvia softly, "I think you had better stay at home."

He stopped again and faced her.

"You must tell me what you mean!"

"It ought to be clear," she murmured, "Don't you think I should miss you?"

With restrained quietness he laid his hand on her shoulder.

"You must listen for a minute, Sylvia. Up to the present, I've been pa.s.sed over by the authorities; but now I've been given my chance. If I can hammer the raw native levies into shape and keep order along a disturbed frontier, it will lead to something better. Now, I'm neither a military genius nor altogether a careless idler--I believe I can do this work; but, coming rather late, it has less attraction for me.

Well, I would let the chance slip, for one reason only; but if I'm to go on continually repressing myself and only allowed to see you at long intervals, I might as well go away. You must clearly understand on what terms I remain."

She made a little appealing gesture.

"Yes," she said; "but you must wait and not press me too hard. I am so fenced in by conventions; so many people's susceptibilities have to be considered. I haven't a girl's liberty."

Bland supposed this was as far as she ventured in allusion to her widowed state; but, stirred as he was by her implied submission, it struck him as significant that she should so clearly recognize the restrictions conventionality imposed on her.

"I think," he returned, "the two people who deserve most consideration are you and myself."

"Ah!" said Sylvia, "you deserve it most. You have been very forbearing; you have done all I asked. That is why I know you will bear with a little delay, when it's needful."

He made a sign of reluctant a.s.sent; and then, to his annoyance, two figures emerged from the shadow of the trees not far away. There was nothing to do except to move on, but he thrilled at the slight, grateful pressure of Sylvia's hand upon his arm.

"My dear," he said, "I wish most devoutly that West or Mrs. Lansing had been lame."

Sylvia broke into a ripple of laughter, which somehow seemed to draw them closer. At Herbert's gate they separated, and Bland walked on in an exultant mood which was broken by fits of thoughtfulness. Sylvia had tacitly pledged herself to him, but he was still her unacknowledged lover and the position was irksome. Then he remembered her collectedness, which had been rather marked, but he had learned that emotion is more frequently concealed than forcibly expressed.

Moreover, he had never imagined that Sylvia was wholly free from faults; he suspected that there was a vein of calculating coldness in her, though it caused him no concern. Bland was a man of experience who had acquired a good-humored toleration with the knowledge that one must not expect too much from human nature.

While Bland was being driven to the station, Sylvia entered the room where Herbert lay, and handed him the letter.

"Captain Bland came in during the evening to see Stephen and sent you this," she said. "He told me you were to do what you thought fit with it."

Herbert perused the letter, and then reaching out with some difficulty, flung it into the fire.

"I've taken him at his word," he said. "Have you read the thing?"

"No; I fear the details would have puzzled me; but I understand its general import. How was it your secretary was so careless?"

Herbert smiled.

"The man's smart enough, as a rule; but we all have our weak moments.

This, however, is not the kind of thing that's likely to lead to his advancement." He lay quiet for a moment or two; and then went on: "I'm grateful to you. Had you much trouble in persuading Bland to let you have the letter?"

"No; he offered it voluntarily."

"Then the man must have been desperately anxious to please you. It looks as if his condition were getting serious."

"I resent coa.r.s.eness," exclaimed Sylvia.

Herbert laughed.

"Oh," he said, "you and I can face the truth. As West's a lawyer, Bland's visit to him is, of course, significant; the man knew that letter might have been worth something in hard cash to him, as well as affording him the satisfaction of making things hot for the directors of the company, among whom I was included. He would hardly have parted with it unless he had a strong inducement."

"His motives don't concern you," retorted Sylvia.

"You ought to appreciate his action."

"I appreciate it as sincerely as I do yours, because you must have shown that you didn't want him to use the letter, though I'm inclined to think your motives were rather mixed; one could scarcely expect them all to be purely benevolent."

Sylvia smiled. He was keen-witted and she found something amusing in the ironical good-humor which often characterized him.

"Anyhow," he continued, "you're a staunch and capable ally, and as that gives you a claim on me, you won't find me reluctant to do my part whenever the time comes."

Then Mrs. Lansing came in, and on the whole Sylvia was glad of the interruption. Herbert's remarks were now and then unpleasantly suggestive. He had called her his ally, but she felt more like his accomplice, which was much less flattering.

CHAPTER XIX

AN OPPOSITION MOVE

It was a wet and chilly night, and Singleton sat in an easy chair beside the hearth in his city quarters with an old pipe in his hand.

The room was shabbily furnished, the hearthrug had a hole in it, the carpet was threadbare, and Singleton's attire harmonized with his surroundings, though the box of cigars and one or two bottles and siphons on the table suggested that he expected visitors. The loose Tuxedo jacket he had bought in America was marked by discolored patches; his carpet slippers were dilapidated. His means, though long restricted, would have warranted better accommodations; but his clothes were comfortable and he did not think it worth while to put on anything smarter. There was a vein of rather bitter pride in the man, and he would not, out of deference to any other person's views, alter conditions that suited him.

A notebook lay beside him and several bulky treatises on botany were scattered about, but he had ceased work and was thinking. After the shadow and silence of the tropical bush, to which he was most accustomed, the rattle of the traffic in the wet street below was stimulating; but his reflections were not pleasant. He had waited patiently for another invitation to Lansing's house, which had not arrived, and a day or two ago he had met Sylvia Marston, upon whom his mind had steadily dwelt, in a busy street. She had bowed to him courteously, but she had made it clear that she did not expect him to stop and speak. It had been a bitter moment to Singleton, but he had calmly faced the truth. He had served his purpose, and he had been dropped. Now, however, a letter from one of the people he was expecting indicated that he might again be drawn into the rubber-exploiting scheme.

The two gentlemen who had called on Herbert were shown in presently.

"It was I who wrote you," the first of them said; "this is my colleague, Mr. Nevis."

Singleton bowed.