in Marport. But he had set his affections on Olivia, and hitherto she had shrunk from him. All the same, brute as he was, she admired him more than she did effeminate Chris Walker, who smacked of the city and of a feather-bed-four-meals-a-day existence.
"Oh," squeaked Miss Pewsey, flying to the hero and clasping him round the neck, "how very, very sweet of you to come."
"Hadn't anything else to do," said Clarence gracefully, casting himself into a chair. All his movements were graceful like those of a panther. "How are you Miss Wharf—Miss Rayner—Lady Jabe. I guess you all look like a garden of spring flowers this day."
"But flowers we may not pluck," sighed Chris prettily.
Burgh looked at him with contempt. "I reckon a man can pick what he has a mind to," said he drily, and then shifted his gaze to see how Olivia took this speech. To his secret annoyance, she did not let on she heard him.
"Will you have some tea, Mr. Burgh," asked Miss Wharf.
"Thanks. It seems to be the sort of thing one must drink here."
"You drank it in China didn't you?" asked Lady Jabe.
Burgh turned quickly. "Who told you I had been in China?" he asked.
"My nephew Chris. He heard you talking Chinese to someone."
The dark young man looked distinctly annoyed. "When was that?" he asked Chris.
"Two weeks ago," replied the other, "you were standing at the corner of the Mansion House talking to a Chinaman. I only caught a word or two in passing."
"And I guess you didn't understand," said Clarence derisively.
"There you are wrong. I am in a Chinese firm, and know the language. As a matter of fact I write their foreign letters for them."
"The deuce you do," murmured Burgh looking rather disturbed; but he said no more on the subject, and merely enquired if the ladies were prepared for the ball at the Bristol which was to take place in six days. "I hear it's going to be a bully affair."
"Oh charming—charming," said Miss Pewsey. "Major Tidman is one of the stewards. I asked him for a ticket for you Clarence dear."
"I'll go, if Miss Rayner will dance with me."
"I don't know that I am going myself," said Olivia quietly.
"Nonsense," said her aunt sharply, "of course you are going. Everyone is going—the best ball of the season."
"Even poor little me," said Miss Pewsey, with her elderly head on one side.
"Huh," said the irreverent Clarence, "ain't you past hoppin' aunt?"
"I can look on and admire the younger generation dear."
"It will be a splendid ball," prattled Chris sipping his tea and devouring very crumbly cake, "the Glorious Golfers are going to spend a lot of money in decorating the rooms. I met Mr. Ainsleigh. He is going—a rare thing for him. He goes nowhere as a rule."
Miss Wharf glanced sharply at her niece, but beyond a faint flush, she could detect no sign of emotion. "People who are as poor as young Ainsleigh, can't afford to go out," she said deliberately. "I think the wisest thing that young man could do, would be to marry a rich girl," and she again looked at Olivia.
"He is certainly very handsome," said Lady Jabe pensively, "very much like his mother. She was a fine-looking woman, one of the Vanes of Heathersham."
"I remember her," said Miss Wharf, her colour rising, "and I never thought she was good-looking myself."
"Not to compare to you dear," said the sycophant.
But this time Miss Pewsey made a mistake. The remark did not seem to please Miss Wharf. "I don't care for comparisons," she said sharply, "its bad taste to make them. I like Mr. Ainsleigh, but I don't approve of his idling."
"He has never been brought up to do anything," said Lady Jabe.
"Then he ought to turn his hands to making money in some way. That place is mortgaged and at any time may be sold. Then he won't have a roof over his head."
"I have never met Ainsleigh," said Burgh musingly, "I guess I'd like to have a jaw along o' him. Wasn't his father murdered in China?"
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