was cropping the grass.
‘In every situation,’ he said slowly, ‘there are parts unknown.’ He looked seriously at her. ‘I make a point of never condemning unless I have proof that condemnation is deserved. I want to ask you, Miss Stafford, to remember this.’
She lowered her lashes, acutely conscious of a rebuke.
‘You’ve shirked your duty; you’ll own to that?’
He allowed that to pass and said,
‘You asked just now if I was married to your cousin. You obviously sorted out her papers after she had died?’
Gail’s eyes widened. It was just as if he were pumping her—subtly asking if she had found a marriage certificate! If he were married to Sandra, then there most certainly would have been a marriage certificate in existence. He must know this. Puzzled in the extreme, and acutely conscious of that tingling sensation which seemed to warn that something was not quite right, she asked herself why Kane Farrell was so cautiously avoiding a direct answer. He knew whether or not he had been married to Leta’s mother. Of course he knew ... and yet he appeared to be probing to discover whether or not any proof of a marriage existed. Gail shook her head bewilderedly, and stared at him with a questioning gaze.
‘I didn’t find a marriage certificate,’ she said, and then, ‘Mr. Farrell, were you married to Sandra?’ Surely he could not continue to avoid answering her, thought Gail, and she was right. He was hesitating, but she saw by his expression that an answer would this time be forthcoming.
‘No ... I was not married to Leta’s mother…’
Silence except for the sudden whinnying of the horse and the following exclamation with which Leta responded to it. Gail was still staring up into Kane Farrell’s dark countenance, her mind going over what he had just said. There had been the hesitation, and the rather odd inflection in his tone, and it was his tone rather than the words themselves which puzzled her. Also puzzling to her was her own state of mind, for one moment she was condemning him while the next she was telling herself that he could not be so heartless as it appeared on the surface.
‘Parts unknown ...’ So grave the voice, and a warning in the slate-grey eyes. What did he mean? Had there been some excuse for his conduct? But no. Gail would not have it. He had received Sandra’s letter; he had admitted this, and he had also admitted that he should have sent her money.
‘You’re a strange man,’ she sighed, not to him, but merely murmuring her thoughts aloud. ‘I wish I understood.’
No response from Kane Farrell; his brow was furrowed and even yet again she had the impression that he had some plan in mind.
‘Tell me,’ he said at length, ‘why was there no one who would take the child?’
‘Because I’m so naughty!’ from Leta who had risen and come towards him. ‘I’m bad, very bad! Mrs. Renshawe down our lane said I was the devil’s she-cub —’ She broke off, frowning. ‘What’s a cub? I thought it was a little baby lion.’ She looked up at him. ‘If it is then I’m not a cub, am I?’ she added, diverted to such an extent that the expression in her eyes was one of wonderment—rather an attractive expression, thought Gail, recalling how at times her expression could be so vicious that she looked almost ugly.
‘No,’ he said unsmilingly, ‘you’re not a cub.’ Still thoughtful, Gail noticed, and she wished she could see what was going on in his mind.
‘Oh, a beetle!’ Leta bent down; the brooch was still in her hand and she was all ready to stick the pin in the insect when Gail snatched at her wrist and dragged her away.
‘You naughty girl! How many times have I told you that it hurts little creatures when you treat them like that!’ She was furious, and for the moment Kane Farrell was completely forgotten.
‘I like hurting them! I’ll stick it in you in a minute! And I’ll stick it ten times in that lady, because I don’t like her! You know,
‘In every situation,’ he said slowly, ‘there are parts unknown.’ He looked seriously at her. ‘I make a point of never condemning unless I have proof that condemnation is deserved. I want to ask you, Miss Stafford, to remember this.’
She lowered her lashes, acutely conscious of a rebuke.
‘You’ve shirked your duty; you’ll own to that?’
He allowed that to pass and said,
‘You asked just now if I was married to your cousin. You obviously sorted out her papers after she had died?’
Gail’s eyes widened. It was just as if he were pumping her—subtly asking if she had found a marriage certificate! If he were married to Sandra, then there most certainly would have been a marriage certificate in existence. He must know this. Puzzled in the extreme, and acutely conscious of that tingling sensation which seemed to warn that something was not quite right, she asked herself why Kane Farrell was so cautiously avoiding a direct answer. He knew whether or not he had been married to Leta’s mother. Of course he knew ... and yet he appeared to be probing to discover whether or not any proof of a marriage existed. Gail shook her head bewilderedly, and stared at him with a questioning gaze.
‘I didn’t find a marriage certificate,’ she said, and then, ‘Mr. Farrell, were you married to Sandra?’ Surely he could not continue to avoid answering her, thought Gail, and she was right. He was hesitating, but she saw by his expression that an answer would this time be forthcoming.
‘No ... I was not married to Leta’s mother…’
Silence except for the sudden whinnying of the horse and the following exclamation with which Leta responded to it. Gail was still staring up into Kane Farrell’s dark countenance, her mind going over what he had just said. There had been the hesitation, and the rather odd inflection in his tone, and it was his tone rather than the words themselves which puzzled her. Also puzzling to her was her own state of mind, for one moment she was condemning him while the next she was telling herself that he could not be so heartless as it appeared on the surface.
‘Parts unknown ...’ So grave the voice, and a warning in the slate-grey eyes. What did he mean? Had there been some excuse for his conduct? But no. Gail would not have it. He had received Sandra’s letter; he had admitted this, and he had also admitted that he should have sent her money.
‘You’re a strange man,’ she sighed, not to him, but merely murmuring her thoughts aloud. ‘I wish I understood.’
No response from Kane Farrell; his brow was furrowed and even yet again she had the impression that he had some plan in mind.
‘Tell me,’ he said at length, ‘why was there no one who would take the child?’
‘Because I’m so naughty!’ from Leta who had risen and come towards him. ‘I’m bad, very bad! Mrs. Renshawe down our lane said I was the devil’s she-cub —’ She broke off, frowning. ‘What’s a cub? I thought it was a little baby lion.’ She looked up at him. ‘If it is then I’m not a cub, am I?’ she added, diverted to such an extent that the expression in her eyes was one of wonderment—rather an attractive expression, thought Gail, recalling how at times her expression could be so vicious that she looked almost ugly.
‘No,’ he said unsmilingly, ‘you’re not a cub.’ Still thoughtful, Gail noticed, and she wished she could see what was going on in his mind.
‘Oh, a beetle!’ Leta bent down; the brooch was still in her hand and she was all ready to stick the pin in the insect when Gail snatched at her wrist and dragged her away.
‘You naughty girl! How many times have I told you that it hurts little creatures when you treat them like that!’ She was furious, and for the moment Kane Farrell was completely forgotten.
‘I like hurting them! I’ll stick it in you in a minute! And I’ll stick it ten times in that lady, because I don’t like her! You know,
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