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She started a little. “But you didn’t know then–How long ago was it?”

“Three years,” said Fletcher Hill. “I’ve been getting it ready for you ever since.”

She looked up at him. “You–took a good deal for granted, didn’t you?” she said.

Fletcher was smiling, dryly humorous. “I knew my own mind, anyway,” he said.

“And you’ve never had–any doubts?” questioned Dot.

“Not one,” said Fletcher Hill.

She laid her hand on his arm with a shy gesture. “I hope you won’t be dreadfully disappointed in me,” she said.

He bent towards her, and for a moment she felt as if his keen eyes pierced her. “I don’t think that is very likely,” he said, and kissed her with the words.

She did not shrink from his kiss, but she did not return it; nor did he linger as if expecting any return.

He was on his feet the next moment, and she wondered with a little sense of chill if he were really satisfied.

CHAPTER VII

THE CONQUEROR

They found Adela awaiting them in her corner, but chafing for a change.

“I want you to take us to the billiard-room,” she said to Fletcher. “There’s a great match on. I’ve heard a lot of men talking about it. And I adore watching billiards. I’m sure we shan’t be in the way. I’ll promise not to talk, and Dot is as quiet as a mouse.”

Fletcher considered the point. “I believe it’s a fairly respectable crowd,” he said, looking at Dot. “But you’re tired.”

“Oh, no,” she said at once. “I don’t feel a bit sleepy. Let us go in by all means if you think no one will mind! I like watching billiards, too.”

“It’s a man called Warden,” said Adela. “That’s the new manager of the Fortescue Gold Mine, isn’t it? They say he has the most marvelous luck. He is playing the old manager–Harley, and giving him fifty points. There’s some pretty warm betting going on, I can tell you. Do let us go and have a look at them! They’ve got the girl from the bar to mark for them, so we shan’t be the only women there.”

She was evidently on fire for this new excitement, and Fletcher Hill, seeing that Dot meant what she said, led the way without further discussion. He paused outside the billiard-room door, which stood ajar; for a tense silence reigned. But it was broken in a moment by the sharp clash of the balls and a perfect howl of enthusiasm from the spectators.

“Oh, it’s over!” exclaimed Adela. “What a pity! Never mind! Let’s go in! Perhaps they’ll play again.”

The barmaid came flying out to fetch drinks as they entered. The atmosphere of the room was thick with smoke. A babel of voices filled it. Men who had been sitting round the walls were grouped about the table. In the midst of them stood the victor in his shirt-sleeves, conspicuous in the crowd by reason of his great height–a splendid figure of manhood with a careless freedom of bearing that was in its way superb.

He was turned away from the door at their entrance, and Dot saw only a massive head of straw-coloured hair above a neck that was burnt brick-red. Then, laughing at some joke, he wheeled round again to the table; and she saw his face….

It was the face of a Viking, deeply sunburnt, vividly alive. A fair moustache covered his upper lip, and below it the teeth gleamed, white and regular like the teeth of an animal in the wilderness. He had that indescribable look of morning-time, of youth at its best, which only springs in the wild. His eyes were intensely blue. They gazed straight across at her with startling directness.

And suddenly Dot’s heart gave a great jerk, and stood still. It was not the first time that those eyes had looked into hers.

The moment passed. He bent himself over the table, poised for a stroke, which she saw him execute a second later with a delicacy that thrilled her strangely. Full well did she remember the deftness and the steadiness of those brown hands. Had they not held her up, sustained her, in the greatest crisis of her life?