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“You and Adela had better have a week off,” said Jack, “and go while Fletcher is busy there. You’ll see something of him in the evenings then.”

“What about you?” she said, squeezing his arm.

“Oh, I shall be all right. I’m expecting Lawley in from the ranges. He’ll help me. I’ve got to learn to do without you, eh, little ‘un?” He held her to him again.

She clasped his neck. “It’s your own doing, Jack; but I know it’s for my good. You must let me come and help you sometimes–just for a holiday.” Her voice trembled.

He kissed her again with great tenderness. “You’ll come just whenever you feel like it, my dear,” he said. “And God bless you!”

CHAPTER VI

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS

On account of its comparative proximity to the gold mine, Trelevan, though of no great size, was a busy place. Dot had stayed at the hotel there with her brother on one or two occasions, but it was usually noisy and crowded, and, unlike Adela, she found little to amuse her in the type of men who thronged it. Fletcher Hill always stayed there when he came to Trelevan. The police court was close by, and it suited his purpose; but he mixed very little with his fellow-guests and was generally regarded as unapproachable–a mere judicial machine with whom very few troubled to make acquaintance.

Fletcher Hill in the role of a squire of dames was a situation that vastly tickled Adela’s sense of humour. As she told Jack, it was going to be the funniest joke of her life.

Neither Hill nor his grave young fiancee seemed aware of any cause for mirth, but with Adela that was neither here nor there. She and Dot never had anything in common, and as for Fletcher Hill, he was the driest stick of a man she had ever met. But she was not going to be bored on that account. To give Adela her due, boredom was a malady from which she very rarely suffered.

She was in the best of spirits on the evening of their arrival at Trelevan. The rooms that Fletcher Hill had managed to secure for them led out of each other, and the smaller of them, Dot’s looked out over the busiest part of the town. As Adela pointed out, this was an advantage of little value at night, and it could be shared in the daytime.

Dot said nothing. She was used to her sister-in-law’s cheerful egotism, and Adela had never hesitated to invade her privacy if she felt so inclined. Her chief consolation was that Adela was a very sound sleeper, so that there was small chance of having her solitude disturbed at night.

She herself was not sleeping so well as usual just then. A great restlessness was upon her, and often she would pace to and fro like a caged thing for half the night. She was not actively unhappy, but a great weight seemed to oppress her–a sense of foreboding that was sometimes more than she could bear.

Fletcher Hill’s calm countenance as he welcomed them upon their arrival reassured her somewhat. He was so perfectly self-controlled and steady in his demeanour. The very grasp of his hand conveyed confidence. She felt as if he did her good.

They dined together in the common dining-room, but at a separate table in a corner. There were many coming and going, and Adela was frankly interested in them all. As she said, it was so seldom that she had the chance of studying the human species in such variety. When the meal was over she good-naturedly settled herself in a secluded corner and commanded them to leave her.

“There’s something in the shape of a glass-house at the back,” she said. “I don’t know if it can be called a conservatory. But anyhow I should think you might find a seat and solitude there, and that, I conclude, is what you most want. Anyhow, don’t bother about me! I can amuse myself here for any length of time.”