Came a Stranger – Celine Conway

Tess was resigned to the fact that she had to leave Canada and
go home to England; that she must give up all her plans for running a
guest house by the lovely lake at the foot of the Rockies. The house
was up for sale, and all she had to do was wait for a prospective
buyer. What she hadn't expected was that, when the buyer
materialized, he would not only want to take over the guest house but,
apparently, organize Tess's life for her as well!

CHAPTER ONE

IT was the first wet day for a month, a cool, grey day, just right
for the jobs Tess had had to leave till last. Just right, and yet a little
depressing. Rain outside, and indoors the big packing cases waiting to
be filled with blankets and china, pictures and books and all the
oddments the Harveys had collected during their four years at Lake
Kenegan. Still, it had to be done and there was no one else to do it.

She pushed back a short, ash-blonde tendril, hitched the knees of

her jeans and got down on her knees to tie up a pile of books. These
had been her father's; out-of-date technical tomes about the building
trade. He'd prepared all his plans from them, had said that
modernizing when the time came would be easy—no need to alter the
basic idea. Plans . . . ideas . . . what good were they if you hadn't the
money to carry them out? But he'd had lots

of fun thinking and scheming and looking towards a future in

which he would sit back and watch a manager run the magnificent
Garth Holiday Resort; it would be advertised in the best papers as the
perfect spot for a gay, serene and sport-filled vacation. He'd envisaged
so much and for him, perhaps, it hadn't mattered that none of it had
come to pass; he had been full of faith in the venture even till his
death, a year ago.

To be quite honest, thought Tess, she'd had unbounded

confidence in it herself. All her life she had believed in her father, had
been convinced that he could do anything, and the fact that she had
been left alone with her mother at

,<}arth House had made no difference to her faith in the

ultimate success of those plans, if they could have been

;put into operation. Now, of course, they were worthless. But to

Tess, as well as to her father, the years af Lake

Kenegan had been marvellous. Only Mrs. Harvey had doubted

whether they should ever have come to Canada, and only she had
been homesick for the Warwickshire lanes and busy country towns. It
was for her mother's sake that her father had decided on British
Columbia,

where it was warmer, and greener and more British than the rest
of Canada.
Tess sat back on her heels, stared at the whitewashed
 wall of the kitchen and silently reminisced. About her
first glimpse of the Rockies, the train jolting across spruce-
lined ravines, the endless green valleys full of fruit farms.
About the small town in which they had stayed while
seeking some sort of business in which to invest their
small capital. And about their first visit to Garth House,

a sprawling frame building of nine bedrooms and four spacious

downstairs living-rooms. It was difficult to remember just how she'd
felt that day, when she had come alone with her father to this great
empty house, hung with cobwebs and splitting slightly at the seams.

"We'll get it fixed up a little before your mother in-spects," he

said. "The repairs won't take any time at all— I can do them myself.
You can help me to clean through the place and I'll get someone to
wax polish the floors and banisters. So long as your mother takes to it
we'll all
be happy."
The sixteen-year-old Tess had gazed about her raptty "It's so
big. What shall we do with it?"

"Do?" Her father's thinnish face had glowed. "It's going to be a

small hotel, the only one at this end of Lake Kenegan. At the other
end of the lake there's a couple of holiday hotels that make a pot of
money. They're eight miles away, and they haven't any scenery to
touch ours. We'll knock the two big rooms into one large lounge,
broaden the dining-room and redecorate. When we're estab-lished
we'll just rake in the customers, and be able to

expand."
The view had already been "ours," the house already visualized
as a sort of lakeside inn. Tess had become as enthusiastic as her
father; while he and a handy man did the repairs, she scrubbed and
polished and even tidied the small lawn in front of the house. Long
before they moved in she was intimately acquainted with every room
and its fireplace, the front stoep with its log posts and benches, the
ramshackle outhouse where they kept the old car— and with the view.
Pebble beach and crags, great masses of hemlock and spruce, firs
marching along the skyline; and

-:•—••

downthere,attheendofthegradualslopefromthe

house,thedeepbluelakefullofskyandtrees.

Tesssighedgustilyandbentoncemoreoverthebooks.
 Therestoftheheapwerehersandhermother's;classics, afewbest-
sellingnovels,biographies,travlbooks.The
pictureswereMrs.Harvey's;delicatewater-colorsand

,'Persianprintswhichshehadcollectedwithloveandcare.
"They'dhavetobepackedbetweenwadsofnewspaper.

Shegotup,sawherbywatchthatitwasnoon,and

,decidedtomakesometea.Shehadbreakfastedatsix,

offcoldcerealandtoast,andwasbeginningtofeelthe

.needofprotein,buttherewasn'tmuchsolidfoodinthe

plac'e.SheoughtreallytogoovertotheNielands'for :lunch,but...

"Hi,there.Anybodyhome?"

Acaller,onadaylikethis,deservedattention.Tess

,shookdownherjeans,gaveahastypattothecollarof

:'herfadedpinkshirtandwalkedthrough(hebackhall
 r:intotheentrancelounge.Amanstoodjustinsidetheopen
^door,atallmaninheavyslacksandatweedjacket.Rain-
idropsglistenedoverhisrichbrownhairandspatteredhis
|shoulders,butyoufeltthiswasamanwhodidn'tnotice

s\theelements.Hewasasleanandimpersonalasthecrags
;^outthere,andthereweretinycreasesatthecornersofhis

1^eyes,asifhewereusedtotheoutdoorsonavastscale.

'"CanIhelpyou?"sheasked.

;;,"Youmight,"hesaid,andsizedherup,fromthetop
I.ofherwhitishshorthairtothetipsofherblunt-toed
|.flats."AreyoutheHarveygirl?"

fr."Youmightcallmethat.TessHarvey."
S:"Isee."Hesoundednegligent."It'syourmotherIwant

Itosee,honey."

j;Theyallspokelikethatatthebeginning;asthoughTess

gwereaschoolgirlonholiday."Sheisn'there.Ifit's
||personalbusiness,youmightliketowritetoherin
 Hfingland."

fe"It'snotpersonal.Ibelievethisplaceisupforsale?"
I"That'sright."

p.."I'dliketolookitoverandmakeyouanoffer.The
InameisSteveFenner."

j"Howdoyoudo."Tesspaused."Didyousayyouwant
|tomakeanoffer?"

•That's what I said. It's on the market, isn't it?" "Yes, but it's odd
to mention making an offer before
you've seen the rooms. Do you want to go through them
now?"
"Not particularly. How many bedrooms?"
"Nine."
"And plenty of space downstairs, it seems. Selling it
furnished?"
"Yes: It's only fair to tell you that we bought every-

thing at auction sales in Vancouver. The bedrooms were fitted

up for the types who go in for a fishing holiday and feel they're
roughing it if they haven't a private bathroom and wall lights. The
lounge ..."

"Say, he surveyed her curiously, "you weigh people up, don't

you? How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"The accent's English, so I suppose you've decided you
don't fit in out here?"

Small, straight and slim, she stared at him with cool blue eyes.
"I haven't decided anything of the sort, Mr. Fenner. If I could keep
Garth House, I would. It isn't practicable, so I'm packing up. And now
about the details." She looked away from him and went on
automatically, "We don't want to make any false claims for the place.
My father patched up the electric wiring and it's apt to cause trouble
now and then. The generator is old-fashioned but in good condition,
and the water tanks have been repaired. There's no central heating, but
the main rooms have radiators, fed from the boiler in the cellar. The
plumbing is in good order, there are three bathrooms— one of them
entirely new and on the upper floor there

is a large linen room. Apart from furnishings and rugs —which

are included in the sale price—the purchaser will be asked to buy the
bed linen, hotel crockery and cutlery at valuation. In the kitchen . . ."
"You've got it off well," he said admiringly. "Take a
 breather."
Just faintly, her eyes darkened, but she said calmly, They're all
things you'll need to know."

"How many prospective buyers have you had?" "Three. You're

the fourth. The others were frightened
away by the isolation of this spot"

"You'retoo honest. You'll never make a saleswoman. You say

your^nother is in England?"

"She arrived there a week ago."

"Who's in charge here now?"

"I am."

"The deuce you are!" He rubbed his knuckles along his jaw.
"Any guests?"

"None at all. We took no bookings after the end of last month,

and you may as well know that we don't get casuals—we're too far off
the beaten track."
 "Tell me," his grey eyes narrowed shrewdly, "don't you really
want to sell?"

The query jolted Tess. She hadn't talked to the other prospective
buyers as she was talking to this man. But then they had been
different; older men with families. This one, she was sure, hadn't even
a wife. He was quite untamed. .

"The place is not mine," she answered offhandedly. "It's my

mother's. She's very anxious to sell up."

"But she's in England and you're here. How did she come to
leave you like that?" As her head rose slightly he added, "Frankly, I'm
wondering why I can't hear a sound about the place. You can't be
alone here."

"I haven't been alone. We had a helper, but she left yesterday. I
myself am sleeping here for the last time to-night My mother has been
rather unwell since my father died a year ago, and she's gone home to
live with her sister. Garth House couldn't be left to deteriorate, so I
stayed

on for a while to be on hand if a buyer turned up. To-morrow

I'm leaving to stay with some friends, but I shall come over quite
often to'air the place until it's occupied again."
 "That's dandy—leaving a child like you in possessioni What sort
of mother is she, anyway?"

It was odd, but until that final remark Tess had con-sidered him
one of those slightly overbearing men who are so accustomed to male
companionship that they just don't try to get along with women. She
had met the tpye before, prickled a little at being treated as a juvenile
but had not cared. Unfortunately, this one had something about him
that made you care, whether you wanted to or not.

"We came to Canada as other English families do, Mr. Fenner,"

she said abruptly. "My father sold up his part-nership in a building
firm and he put the money, with his savings, into Garth House. It was
derelict and going cheap, but for all that it took most of the cash. He
had ambitions for the place. It was going to be a holiday resort on a
main road. Oh yes, he even thought they might tarmac the rough track
down to the other end of the lake and carry on with it towards the
north, taking in a couple of large towns. We were to run this place as
it is for a few years and save the profits till we had enough to build a
pier on the lake, and some cabins with attached bath-rooms.
Eventually, we were going to put up a modem hotel alongside this
one, have a good dance floor and an orchestra—sophistication in the
wilds." She turned towards the small reception counter. "You may
laugh, if you want to."
 "It's not that funny," he said. "The idea was a good one, and
your father will never know how near the truth he was about the road.
It'll take time, but it's coming."

She was looking at him across the counter now. "We made
inquiries and were told it was out of the question."
•'That must have been some time ago."
"About eighteen months."
"Supposing they'd been able to tell you the road was coming;
that there would also be a township of sorts only a mile or two away,
to the north. What would you have done?"
"I ... I don't know. My mother and I haven't the

knowledge and enthusiasm my father had. We'd have to sell up

just the same. But ... are you sure about the road and the township?"
"I certainly am," he said laconically. "I'm the chap in charge of
the project. In about a week we pitch camp at North Tucket and start
receiving gear for silver mining. In. a few months we'll be in full
operation, and our workers will be moving into a new village, with
this place as its nearest point for relaxation. So whatever your figure
for this joint, treble it and think again before you sell."

"But . . . you said just now that you'll make an offer for it."
 "So I will—just as a speculation. But you're the people who've
made the place what it is, and you're the ones who ought to cash in.
You don't want a stranger to get the benefit of your work, do you?"

"Of course not. But how can we be sure that Garth House is
worth hanging on to?"

"You can take my word for it; believe it or not, my word is quite
a bit. On the other hand, if your mother needs the cash I'll make a deal
with her."',
She stood very straight behind the counter, found her-self
leaning back slightly as he rested his elbow on the polished surface
and looked at her.

"What sort of deal?" she asked guardedly.

"It's like this," he said, in take-it-or-leave-it tones. "I heard down

in town that this place was for sale. I thought about it and decided to
look it over. At the moment there are three of us—I'm the engineer in
charge and there's

a geologist and a surveyor. Normally, we stay at the nearest

hotel and drive out to the job each day, and I don't see why we
shouldn't do the same this time. This place is nearer the site than
Pelton by at least ten miles. Can you put us up?"
 "For how long?"

"A couple of months—till we have things organized. After

that—who knows? Wherever there's a development capital follows.
The speculators will be snapping up any ground that's available at this
end of the lake."

"There's not much. Ours is the largest lot—seven acres."

"Then cling to it!"

She shook her head. "I can't do that. My mother needs the
money rather urgently. That's why we're asking only what we gave for
the place—to get rid of it quickly."

"Well, I said I'd make a bargain with you. I'll buy a halfshare at
the price you're asking for the whole. That means you get your cash
and retain a half-interest in the property."

For the first time Tess believed in the man. He was big and
carved from something as hard as the rocks above

the lake, he looked supremely sure of himself and cer-tainly not

the type to care much about women. Still . . .
"It sounds very attractive," she said, "but I can't give
 11

you an answer at once. I have to submit any offer to a friend of

ours. He's oldish and wise, and he promised my mother he'd help in
any way he could; he'll want to discuss it with you. I'll be seeing him
tomorrow."

"Pine. My two colleagues and myself will be moving in this

evening. All right?"

"So soon? We haven't much food."

"We'll bring something with us when we come. We're not

pernickety."

She smiled. "No, I shouldn't say you were. I'll get th rooms
ready."
"You'll need help about the place."
"I'll find someone. Dick will see to it for me."
A pause. "Who is Dick?"

"Dick Nieland. He's the son of the man who's acting for my
mother. The Nielands are our closest friends."
 "Is Dickie-boy the reason you stayed in Canada?" Tess turned to
the wall-board, took down three keys.

"No, he's not—but he'd be a good reason for staying. Satisfied?"

He grinned. "I'm never satisfied. Is that silky head of yours"

natural?"
"Who do you think I'd bleach it for, up here?"
"Could be for that Dick."
"Could be."

"But you're a bit young for it, and I guess you don't care enough
about how you look to go in for artifice."
"That's not a very clever thing to sayl"
He looked surprised. "Hey, now. Don't flash the blue
lamps at'me. All I meant was that a girl who wears no make-up
isn't likely to . . ."

"I don't care what you meant, Mr. Fenner! You've been here
about fifteen minutes, and that's not long enough to give you the right
to judge anyone."

He said tolerantly, "I'll bet you've judged me. How-ever, let it

ride. Are you cooking any lunch?"
 "No."
"Then I'll go back to town for it. Be all right if the three of us
show up at about five?"
"Quite all right."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned to go, and

12

then looked back at her. "By the way, is this Dick Nielanti well
lined?"

"Fairly."

"Nice guy?"

"Very."

"Then make use of him, honey. You don't need me to tell you
that you're quite a girl—without make-up. So

long." • ,

For minutes after the tan-colored estate car had

 squelched away from the front entrance Tess stood where he had
left her, gazing unseeing at the wet waste of grass and rocks and the
grey lake. From feeling staggered, then cross, she arrived at a vexed
smile. Since coming to Cana'da she had met some strange men, but
this one outdid them all. He had looks, an air of distinction and sheer
physical magnetism. He was totally imperturbable, talked of buying
the hotel as if he were in the market for a dozen eggs

or a pound of cheese, and took it for granted that every-one must

realize his opinion of anything was indisputable. So he was an
engineer, the Canadian brand. He had the task of starting up a silver
mine somewhere north of the lake; vaguely, she recalled hearing that
some company had several mineral concessions up there, but it had
never occurred to her that any of them could be close to Lake
Kenegan. For a poignant moment she wished her father could have
known.

She went upstairs, slipped a key into each of three open doors
and entered each room to make up the bed and hang towels on the rail
beside the wash-basin. She came down and boiled an egg, made some
tea and ate without tasting.

Had she been unwise to agree to the man's coming here with his
colleagues this evening? She had given in to him so easily that now
she was rather disturbed. She ought to have put him off, at least until
after she had had a. talk with the Nielands, father and son. But
somehow, things seemed to have slipped out of her grasp and into the
large strong hands of Mr. Steve Fenner; Which, surely, was wrong.
He didn't even belong to these parts!

Yet if it was true about the road and the new township, he had
been very straight and fair. He could quite easily
have left her in ignorance, had the place signed/over to

13

him and sat back to wait for the profit on the deal. It was all very
puzzling and decidedly unsettling. She certainly should have another
opinion on the matter before that grey-eyed egotist came back this
evening.

Tess washed the few things she had used, changed into black
slacks and a turquoise shirt, brushed up her hair and applied a touch
of lipstick. She locked the front door, slipped on one of the two
waterproofs which hung in the stoep and ran across the yard to the
barn. The car, a roomy but ancient Buick which her father had taken
over with Garth House, started up at the third try, and she backed out
and drove along the semicircle of gravel lane and on to the rocky
road. The very road for which Steve Fenner had prophesied a tarmac
surface.

Tess thought about it, half regretfully. True, a good wide road
linking up other towns would bring prosperity, but with the
obliteration of this track part of Kenegan's charm would disappear.
The lake would lose its timeless, unsullied atmosphere, the woods
echo with, the voices of holiday-makers, and the evening breeze
would carry the smoke of a hundred campfires and the smell of petrol.
But that was progress; it was what her father had believed in and
wanted. As far as Tess was concerned, though, the prospect was one
to make her rather glad they were selling

up. The road ran alongside a gradient covered with Douglas firs,
dipped into a valley which was shrouded in soft rain and went straight
as an arrow through a stretch of prairie where cattle grazed; the
Nielands' cattle. The entrance to their ranch was posted by two rough
stone pillars between which a log sign was suspended: "Blue Valley."
Dick's great-grandfafher had bought the land and a herd of cattle; his
father had demolished the old house and built

a stone one, which stood about a hundred yards back and

slightly above the road, in a well-kept garden. The Nielands were not
rich, but as well as the ranch vehicles each ran a car, and they
afforded an expensive Scots housekeeper who kept the place spotless
and cooked
beautifully.
It was this woman, Mrs. Lesley, who came to the door in answer
to Tess's knocking. She was straight, tough and quite ugly except on
the rare occasions when she smiled.

14

Her dress was like good Scotch whisky—it never varied— a

heavy dark skirt, a much-washed white blouse of Ed-wardian cut and
thick black rubber-soled shoes. Her voice and accent were
reminiscent of bagpipes.

"Ye'll be after Dick, I suppose," she said, before Tess could

enter the house. "He's away at Calgary with his
- father. Some trouble there over Dick's cousin."
"I had no idea they were going, Mrs. Lesley."

A shrug. "They didn't know it theirselves. It was sud-den; late

yesterday. Your room's all ready, though. If you
 want to move in today, you can. Though I don't say as it's a
good thing, mind you," with a frown. "You'll be'keeping Dick from
his work."

Mrs. Lesley, Tess reminded herself, always went down better

with a grain or two of salt. She smiled. "I've good

news for you. I shan't be using your spare room after all—not
for a while, anyway. I've got some guests coming to Garth House."

"And what about that job Dick was going to get for you in
town?"

"I shan't need it yet; I'll have plenty to do." She hesi-tated. "I
wanted to see Mr. Nieland fairly soon. When will he be back?"

"Heaven knows," was the dour reply. "He said I was to look
atfer you when you arrived. Dick will be back first, I dare say.
Perhaps in a day or so. He's not going to like your taking on more
customers—especially as you've more
or less closed down." •*
"When he knows the circumstances he'll, probably agree that it's
the only thing to do. Do you think I could get in touch with Mr.
Nieland?"
 "No," decisively. "The man had this letter from Calgary and was
worried; I can't have you worrying him more."
"But he happens to be acting for my mother, and I have to make
a decision."

Mrs. Lesley grimaced. "You've already made it, if I know young

girls. All you want is that Mr. Nieland shall

know what you're up to, so that you can blame him if anything
goes wrong."

"You're an old grouch," said Tess, agreeably. "You think that

everyone except the Nielands has base motives.

15

Doesn't it wring your heart even a little to know that I'm alone
here and a bit scared of all the responsibility?"

"Can't say it does," said the woman. "I'm sixty, and I haven't
lived that long without learning a good deal about

young women. They think twice as fast as any man, can twist
everything and everyone to their own ends, and then
 plead helplessness when things go wrong. Give me men to deal
with, every time."

"You know," said Tess mildly, "I'm beginning to be very glad

I'm not taking that spare room."

"It's still there, if you want it. I was never one to deny anyone a
roof and good food. But don't go twining your-'self any more tightly
about the old man's heart. You wouldn't suit Dick for a wife, and you
know it."

"Agreed. There's no possibility of his wanting me, any-way. I'm

much more concerned at the moment about run-ning the hotel without
staff. I was hoping Dick would know how I could get hold of some
help."

"Hotel!" She sniffed derisively. "Where's that woman you had?"

"She left yesterday for the coast. I don't know the people in town
very well and I wouldn't know who to ask. Got any ideas?"

The woman cocked a thumb towards the inner regions of the

house. "I do all this myself—and look after them both. Tried some
help, but it was hopeless. You won't get anyone. The season isn't over
yet, and all the part-timers are working at the hotels and chalets at the
other end of the lake."

"I know. If only I had an odd-job man to look after the boiler
and do the outside chores, I could manage. Doing the whole lot
myself is going t'o be a grind."
"Hard work never harmed a soul," stated Mrs. Lesley
philosophically. Then, belatedly, "Your hair is damp. Do you
want to come in?"

"I haven't time, thank you, Mrs. Lesley. I'll have to get back and
start some fires. The house is going to be sticky after this rain."

"It won't hurt you to muddle through," replied the woman

blandly, "but if you get into a real tangle, let me know. While I'm not
so busy I'll be willing to cook up a few things for you."

16

Tess thanked her aand ran down to the car. Normally, she would
have had a private grin at Mrs. Lesley. The Scotswoman was naturally
hard, but she did have a few soft spots; in fact one of them, in the
early days of the Harveys at Kenegan, had been Tess herself. As a
long-legged girl straight from school she had had far more appeal for
Mrs. Lesley than the strong slim young woman she had since become.
Mrs. Lesley measured everything and everyone by their effect on the
Nielands, and the twenty-year-old Tess had assumed a degree of
importance in the household, chiefly because Mr. Nieland had been
en-trusted, in part, with her guardianship.

As she drove back to Garth House, Tess wondered for the

umpteenth time what Mrs. Lesley did with her salary. Almost her only
personal purchases were heavy stockings and an occasional pair of
shoes; her winter coat—double tweed with a moth-eaten fur collar—
was at least fifteen years old, and she never wore a hat. Dick said she
had a mint of money banked away for her old age, that she would
never dare spend any of it because she wouldn't know how long she
was going to live!

Ten minutes later Tess was changing back into the old jeans.
She went down to the cellar, chopped kindling and started the boiler
fire, and then carried wood and logs up to the lounge. It was too
warm, really, for a fire, but surfaces were steamy and the fire did
bring a cheerfulness into the atmosphere. When flames were leaping
she went back to the big kitchen and made some pastry. She used a
can of pie apples, covered the dish with a crust and decorated it; made
some tartlets and patty cases. Then she built a third fire, in the stove,
and fed it with wood. No need to cook the pastry yet; it could stay in
the vast old paraffin fridge.
 Five o'clock arrived, and no sign of the three expected men.
Five-thirty, six, six-thirty. Tess kicked at the log which lay across the
lounge fire and kept her eyes away from her watch. All for nothing;
she might have known they wouldn't come. The man and his promises
were too good to be true, and now she was left with the fireplaces to
clean and the pastry to dispose of. And she would have to face Mrs.
Lesley again, and beg for asylum in the spare room, after all.

17

• It darkened early and the rain came faster. Tess ducked

across the yard to the little generator house and set the thing going,
raced back and switched on a few lights. She thought about the job
that Dick had spoken for, tried to visualize herself in tailored frocks at
a desk, answering the telephone, adding up columns of figures, filing
away ac-counts and correspondence. It would cost the earth to get
herself fitted out; she hadn't thought about that yet, but

it would come. And she'd had no experience; book-keeping in a

guest house was hardly likely to have fitted her for a post in
someone's office. She'd hate it, had known it all along but ignored the
fact for her mother's sake. Tess had to stay near Lake Kenegan till
Garth House was sold;
 she also had to earn her living while she waited for a buyer and
would be lucky if she nailed the job Dick had
mentioned.
Well, others had worse problems, Tess admitted with a lift of
the shoulders. Except for a bit of mess to clear up, she was only back
where she had been; one more night at Garth House, a lorry to be
hired to fetch the packing cases, a trip with her own possessions to
Blue Valley. And even if she did dislike office work, it wouldn't be
per-manent. Some time she would return to England, train

as a librarian or as a children's nurse. During her last year at

school she'd ached to be able to take up children's
nursing, but it hadn't been any use telling her parents.

Her father, at that time, was just living till she had finished
school and could accompany her parents to Canada. And

her mother . . . well, her mother had always been a wee bit
artistic and fanciful; she wasn't all that keen on child-
ren, let alone nursing them.

But when she returned to England, Tess would be independent;

she would live in a hostel and plunge straight
into a career. ...
 A car pulled up outside and she straightened, and
listened. She waited till someone thumped on the main
door before crossing the lounge to shoot back the bolt.
He came in, big in his waterproof, his face brown and
lean and wet, his arms cradling a huge cardboard box
full of provisions. He dumped the box on a table, gave her
a smile which, she noticed with a shock, was already
familiar ... as was the, strong, drawling voice.

"Hi, pal. Think I'd let you down?"

"Yes, I did. It's seven-fifteen."
"Couldn't be helped. If you'd had a telephone I'd have let you
know. I waited down in Pelton for my friends and they didn't show
up. We were supposed to meet at the hotel, so I left a note there,
telling them to come on up as soon as they arrive." He sloughed his
waterproof on to
a chair. "All set?"

"The rooms are ready." She picked up his coat, ostenta-tiously

flicked drops from the arm of the chair. "We usually leave these
things in the stoep or the kitchen. And we don't put soggy cardboard
boxes on polished tables."
"Sorry. You houseproud?"
 "Not particularly, but we've alweys kept the lounge as smart as
possible. What about dinner? Are you going to
wait for your friends?"

"I'm famished. There's steak, ham and eggs in the box. You and
I will have the steak right now. I'll carry this stuff through to the
kitchen. Is it this way?"

She followed him, bearing his coat, hung it on a door peg and
turned to the kitchen table. He was unpacking the supplies, bags and
packets of them. He'd even re-membered to bring some tall cartons of
milk.

"You're quite a provider," she commented. "Had much

practice?"
"A bit."
She looked at him. "I didn't think you were married." "I'm not,"
he said briefly.
"Well, who did you practise on?"
"A girl I meant to marry. I had to go north on a big contract and
while I was away she married someone else." He snapped his fingers
calmly. "Just like that. No warning, not even an invitation to the
wedding. I was just a civil engineer on the move, and it seems she
settled for a stock-and-shares man who could stay put."
"Were you . . . upset?"
 "Mad as a bear in a trap," he said nonchalantly, "but it passed.
I'm grateful to the gal. I'm cured."
"Of falling in love, or of wanting to marry?"
He grinned. "Ah, there you have a point. This is where
I play poker."
"Which means you're keeping your own counsel."

19

"That's so, my little English wench. I keep my own counsel.

There's nothing that makes me clam up faster than

an inquisitive little honey like you. Got a skillet?"

"Are you going to cook?"

"I'll start it while you make. the coffee and set the table." He
opened the table drawer and drew out a long kitchen knife. "Did you
get hold of some help?"

"It was too wet to go into town. I'll do it tomorrow."

"What about Dickie-boy?"

 "To you," she said pointedly, "he's Dick Nieland. He's gone to
Calgary with his father, which means that you won't be able to have
your talk with Mr. Nieland senior tomorrow. Are you willing to leave
everything open till

he returns?"

"Sure. Even longer if you prefer to contact your mother. We'll

pay you your usual hotel rates while we're here, and as you're open
you may be able to attract a few more guests. It'll put some cash in
your pocket."
"I'll have to get permission for that from Mr. Nieland."

"Is he that important?"

"I'm afraid so. I think the old darling is rather fond of my

mother . . . but he does like me, too, so he may let me have my own
way. If I can prove that you and your two colleagues will provide a
sort of backbone—three paying guests I can rely on—he may agree to
my running the place as it was for a couple of months. He's not the
sort

to be rushed."
 "Well, who's rushing?" Steve said pleasantly, as he sliced the
steak. "So long as you can get someone here to help

run this place we'll be quite happy. How many servants did you
have?"

"Only a handy-man and a cook-general. My mother looked after

the linen and the appearance of the main rooms, and I was in charge
of the' bedrooms and the

ordering and bookkeeping; when it was necessary we hired a

waitress. It was hard work during the season, but we had it easy
during the winter."

"Did you close up the place in October?"

"We couldn't afford to—didn't want to, either, even without

guests. I used to take a job in a bookshop for the Christmas rush, but
for the rest of the time we painted and sewed. The winters were fun."

20

He dropped the slabs of steak into hot fat, wiped his fingers on a
cloth and leaned back against the wall beside the stove. The grey,
unwavering eyes looked about the room, took in the pale yellow
dresser with its orderly rows of cups and saucers and wide drawers
below, the white kitchen cupboards each side of it, the draped door-
way into the scullery, the scrubbed table and four pale yellow
enamelled chairs, the black and scarlet lino tiles
•on the floor.
"You and your mother did all this?"

She nodded, took a white table cloth and napkins from a drawer.
"It looked cosier, when Mother was here. A
copper warming pan hung where, you're standing and we had a
two-gallon copper jug down there near the hearth.

Pewter mugs and Spode plates stood along the shelf above the
window, and the curtains were an old daffodil and

crocus pattern that you never see these days. My mother had
some of her treasures packed and dispatched before She left."

As he straightened away from the wall he said im-patiently,

"You must have been an odd couple. You cer-tainly didn't belong in
Kenegan!"

Nettled by his tone, she asked, "Where would you say we

belonged, then?"
 "I don't know, but it was wrong. I'll bet you don't know
: a single girl of your own age."
"No, but I could have met them if I'd wanted to."
"Why didn't you?"
"In the summer there wasn't much time, and in the
• winter . . ."
; She had paused, and he spoke for her. "In the winter
you wouldn't leave your mother." He sounded almost rough as
he turned to prod at the steak with a fork. "You're
•a strange one. I don't get you at all. Kenegan may be beautiful,
but it always will be. You can sit back and
> wallow in scenery when you're too old to do anything
• else. A girl of your age should be out dancing every Saturday,
and up the river with a camping crowd once
. in a while." He shot another question at her. "You get s along
all right with young Canadians, don't you?"
"Yes, of course."

"Then why do you stay away from them?" She didnt answer,
and he turned to direct at her the grey stare. "All

right, I think I know. You're a fool, my girl; At your age you

should be having a whale of a time—lots of friends of both sexes, a
succession of light affairs, all that frothy experience that gets the
moony-eyed phase out of your system. If you carry on considering
your mother first and being afraid to spend a cent of the money you've
earned the hard way, d'you know what will happen? Some day a man
will ask you to marry him and you'll kid yourself he's the knight in
shining armor, because you won't be able

to discriminate."

"It's quite likely," she told him mildly, "that he will be the right
one. I shouldn't worry about it if I were you, Mr. Fenner. Excuse me. I
have to set the dining-room

table."
"Not for me," he said stiffly. "I'll eat in here."

She shook her head. "From today, you're a paying guest, and
you'll be treated as one. I shall charge you well."

He said grimly, "You can work yourself to rags for your mother,
but you're not doing it for me. Till you get assistance my friends and I
will eat in.the kitchen. That's

flati"
How did one deal with a man who was friendly one moment and
glittering at you with hostility the next? Tess didn't try to fathom it
out. She dusted the table and spread the cloth, found cutlery and set
out cups and saucers. He dropped halved tomatoes into the pan,
shoved the meat

to one side and broke eggs into the fat.

Tess served the meal and cut the new loaf he had brought. She
sat opposite him and ate, asked polite ques-tions about his profession,
heard that he had been on bridge-building projects both for the
government and for private contractors up and down the country. He
had an uncle who ran a firm of civil engineers in Toronto, but didn't
fancy getting stuck there yet. He liked spending a few months now
and then on a mining venture; there was something about setting in
motion the machinery for

wresting a country's wealth from under its crust.

"I'm thirsty," he said. "I'll settle for a desk and a hori-zon of

blueprints when I'm forty. Till then, I'll get out on the supervising end
of things."

22
 "I suppose you know the country pretty thoroughly," she
commented.

"Parts of it, but it's a big country."

"Do you have any people besides the uncle?"

"A few cousins, two other uncles and their wives. My home,
when I need one, is with the uncle in Toronto."

"You can do without a home, can't you?"

"Mostly. All my possessions are out there in the car." He pushed

away his plate, took an apple on to his cheese plate and picked up the
coffee pot. "Maxwell and Kaia are darned late. Can't think what's held
them up."

"What time were you supposed to meet?"

"Around three this afternoon at the hotel in Pelton. I travelled

straight through from Alberta, but those two have people in
Vancouver and they were able to get away ' earlier and stay with them
for a few days. It was only three or four hours' travel for them."

"Maybe there was more rain that way and the road was bad."
 "I didn't touch Vancouver, but south of the Kenegan Hills there
wasn't much rain. My colleagues were travelling together so if there'd
been any trouble on the road one of them could have telephoned a
message through to Belton. Well, I suppose they'll turn up some
time." He finished his apple, got out cigarettes. "Smoke?"

"No, I don't, thanks."

"Mind if I do?"

"Go ahead. I'll bring your second cup of coffee to the lounge, if
you like."

"I'll take it with me. Got some papers to look through." He went
out casually, shouldering through the swing
door with a coffee cup in one hand and a sheaf of docu-ments he
had taken from his raincoat pocket in the other. Tess stood up quickly,
began at once to clear the table. Then as she strode on the pedal of the
bin she smiled to

. herself. No need to get into a flap, my girl; he may be big and

tough and self-assured, but he's too much mani
 It was strange what Steve Fenner had done to the kitchen,
though. It was a woman's room, always had been, even in the days
when her father had eaten there with Tess and her mother. Yet Steve
had only to lounge against the wall and throw a steak into the pan, sit
at the table

23

and demolish the said steak and light a cigarette before

sauntering out as if he owned the place, to alter the at-mosphere
drastically. Was it fair that a lone man should be able to accomplish
so much in so short a time? Whether or not, he'd done it—imprinted
his uncaring and yet inflexible personality on the intimate precincts of

Garth House.

Tess washed up and tidied, spread his waterproof on chairs

nearer to the fire and went upstairs to her room.

. It was one of the best rooms, worth fifteen per cent more than
the others in the season because it was right next to the new bathroom
and had a balcony overlooking the lake. Standing near the window
and gazing over sunshot water that mirrored the tall pines, she had
often dreamed of the time when, after the new hotel was built, she and
her father and mother would occupy the whole house them-selves.
There would be an upstairs study and a sewing room, two pretty guest
rooms for their friends—by then they would have plenty of friends!—
and this bedroom would become a gracefully-furnished sitting-room,
with a flight of steps leading down from the balcony on to the

lawn.

The next best thing to dreaming of the future had been to occupy
the room whenever she could, to enjoy the dark polished wood and
apricot linen, the hooked blue rug and flowery bedside lamp. Tonight
she shut out the rainy darkness by drawing the curtains, and then she
sat down and began a letter to her mother; began it, but could go no
further. No use telling her about this new possibility until Mr. Nieland
had set upon it his seal of approval; and what else was there to say?
That she was well but had been a bit lonely? That she was looking
forward to returning

to England?

Tess put down her pen, stood up and walked irresolutely

, about the room. he heard the slam of a car door, decided to

give the men time to greet each other and exchange explanations
before going down. It was well after nine, so the other two would
have eaten at the hotel before coming up here. Perhaps someone in
town had told them that Garth House was more or less closed down.
Pelton was a good many miles away, but the news got round; people
down in town knew her by sight, and some of them

24

came up for Sunday lunch in the main dining-room and spent

the afternoon on the Garth House beach.

She fe|ded her bedspread and laid it on the twin bed, caught
a^flection of herself in the mirror and remained

still, examining it. Hardly any wave to the shortish hair, just a
curly tendril or two close to the temple;, the pale stuff did have a
shine, but its color, true ash with a streak or two of golden-white, had
always annoyed her mother. Mrs. Harvey had had genuine golden
coloring and fine hazel eyes when she was young, and she would have
liked a pale-skinned, golden daughter. But Tess had turned out
whitish, with a skin that tanned easily and dark blue eyes; when her
hair was trimmed she looked like a boy who worked and dreamed
under the sun. Now .she flipped her fingers. Lord knows why she
should suddenly be interested in her looks 1
 It was nearly ten when she decided to go below and make the
acquaintance of Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Kain. She switched off the
light and went out into the corridor which ended at the stair-head, was
half-way along it when the light failed. Drat, and there were no bulbs
up here . . .

unless she could borrow one from one of the empty bed-rooms.
She went into a room and snapped down the switch; still no light.
Bother the wornout wiring! That meant there were no lights in the
whole place.
Tess didn't have to grope; she knew the house too well. She took
the stairs and went into the lounge. Steve Fenner was striking a match
near the hardly discernible window.

"Lighting plant failed?" he asked.

"I don't think so. The wiring is rotten in parts. I'm terribly sorry.
Stay there and I'll get some paraffin lamps."
"I'll go out to my car for a torch, to help you."
Tess knelt before the scullery cupboard and brought out a couple
of lamps, struck a match and discovered that the lamps had been
emptied and cleaned. She turned as Steve Penner entered the small
space, flashing a light.
"No kerosense?" he queried.
"Not a spot. I poured the last into the fridge tank yester-
 : day. I didn't order any more because I thought it might , be
unwise to leave it here while the place was empty."

"No lives lost," he said easily. "What about candles?"

"There is a packet, a-nd a couple of candlesticks. Will you shine

a light on that cupboard up there?"

He did, and she reached down two plain china candle-holders

and half a dozen candles. He struck another match

and lit the twin flames.

"Afraid we can't do anything about the wiring tonight," he said.

"I'll take a look at it in the morning. Where's

your main switch?"

"In the kitchen, just inside the back door."

"We'll turn it off." He did so, and looked at her face. lit by the
flickering yellow candlelight. "Not frightened, are

you?"
"No." But she spoke a little jerkily. "I've been through
 this before."

"There's nothing to be scared about," he said casually. "Nothings

altered. It was warm, so I let the fire go out, but the stove in here is
still hot enough to boil a kettle. Like

some tea?"

"No, thanks. I was going to make coffee and sandwiches for you
and your friends."

"That's their loss. You go to bed. Take one of the candles and
leave me the other."

"I'd better melt some candle-wax and stick two more candles in
saucers. Your friends will think this is awfully
queer."
"They'll never know, honey. I'll get it fixed up first thing

in the morning."

"But ... but they're here, aren't they?"

"Here?" Grey eyes met blue ones, and both were dark in the
fitful light. "What made you think that?"
 A faint panic rose in her throat but she answered steadily, "I
heard a car door about half an hour ago."

"I went out for my bag and a batch of mail the clerk handed me
at the hotel. Kain and Maxwell aren't coming tonight. They'll be here
by noon tomorrow. Seems Max-well had some trouble and had to stay
over; it's all in a letter he wrote to me care of the hotel, but the clerk
there had shoved everything into one large envelope and I thought it
was all business stuff."
"You might have looked!"

"Now, just a minute!" His jaw tightened. "Are you accusing me

of something? Do you think I'd have wasted

26

two or three hours just waiting for those two this afternoon if I'd
known they weren't coming? I did look through the letters inside the
packet of mail, but I missed Maxwell's letter because the address was
typed and he'd used one

of the company's envelopes. It wasn't till I opened it ten minutes

ago that I knew what had happened." He stopped, and then said
crisply, "Stop jittering and go up to bed. I suggest you lock your door
and stick a chair under the handle. And if it'll make you feel safer you
can sleep with a rifle beside you—I keep one in the car! I'm
spending* the night on the sofa in the lounge."

, Shakily, she moved across the kitchen and out into the rear
hall. She walked to the foot of the stairs, realized she was holding
both candles and held one out to him. He took it and placed it on a
table.

"Go on, get cracking," he said evenly. "Good night." Tess turned
too quickly and placed a foot on the lowest

stair; she hadn't calculated the effect on the candle-flame of the

sudden draught she had caused. It flared across her hair. The next
moment the candlestick was wrenched from her hand and her head
clamped against' a check-shirted chest. She was shaking
uncontrollably, till his arm went round her; and then she felt queer
and rigid. She pushed her shoulder against his arm, stood away from
him and gave him her back.

"I've been needing a "singe," she said. "May I have the candle?
I'll take more care."

"Look here," he said bluntly, "I'm not only a guy with

 a responsible job on my hands, but I do have a code of sorts.
Even if you were five years older I doubt whether
. I'd attempt to kiss you the first time we met. The fact that
you're just a child who's been abandoned in a lonely guest

; house isn't likely to rouse in me anything but anger. The

••• last thing I shall ever want from you is love and kisses.

[ Remember that."

| Tess lifted her head. "That's most reassuring," she said. I-'1 "I
shall be very glad to remember it. And if you'd rather

g" use a bedroom, try Number Three. It's the second on the | left
from the top of the staircase. Good night."

;[ She held the candle well in froat of her and marched up

| the stairs, along the corridor and into her room. There

I she placed the candlestick on her bedside table, turned the

| . 27
 key in the lock and got into her pyjamas. It was not till she was
lying in the darkness that her fingers sought the harsh ends of hair
where the flame had caught them. Her cheek was still hot from
contact with checked shirting, her throat ached with . . . was it
mortification or some kind of need? As if she cared what the man
thought of her! As if it mattered that he didn't find her the kind of girl
who roused
him in any way. That was all to the good, surely? What
had he ..expected of her in the circumstances—sophistica-
tion, the light touch? Well, she just didn't know enough
about men to react in a worldly way. Tomorrow he and
his friends could go off and find accommodation elsewhere.
She would tell him first thing, before he got busy with the
steely-eyed nonchalance. She didn't want the man here,
didn't want his offer of partnership. More than anything
she wanted to be sure that when he left tomorrow she
wouldn't see him again, ever.

CHAPTER TWO

TESS awoke next morning to the thud of footsteps in the roof. It

was seven-thirty, the sun shone with rain-washed brilliance and birds
trilled as if they had yesterdays' songs to dispose of in a hurry before
starting on today's. Tess listened to those noises from overhead, got
up quickly, washed and slipped on a clean shirt and jeans. She slicked
back her hair without looking into the mirror and ran downstairs.

In the kitchen she paused. The stove was hot, the cloth on the
table and coffee keeping warm. The man had apparently had
breakfast, for the things he had used were piled in the sink. Tess didn't
want to think about him; some time during the morning she would tell
him what she

had decided, and that would be that. But why spoil her appetite
by thinking out how to approach the subject? Why think anything
out? He meant nothing whatever to Tess Harvey and Kenegan.

She ate toast and honey, drank some of the coffee, cleared away
and went upstairs to make her bed. Passing Number Three, she saw
that the bedclothes were turned back to the foot, the windows wide.
So he had come up after all, and she hadn't even been aware of it. In
spite

of herself, Tess laughed. What the dickens! Why should she turn
away three good customers? They'd stay a few weeks, pay season's
rates and be away all day. She would be far better off staying here and
housekeeping for them than working down in the town and living
under Mrs. Lesley's thumb at the Nielands'. There would be no smart
clothes to buy, no driving backwards and forwards in the old
 car; above all, no sense of obligation to Dick and his father.
Come to think of it, the three men, between them, might obviate the
need for a handyman, and she would only have to look for a woman
to help about the place; yes, she must definitely have another woman
on the premises, though how to get hold of one who would be willing
to live away from. town was rather a problem. The only sort available
in Pelton were married women who

29

wanted to earn pocket money; they had families, and insisted on

transport being provided to carry them to and

fro each day. It was going to be difficult.

She made the bed in Number Three, tucked astonishing-ly good

navy silk pyjamas under the pillow and adjusted the- bedspread. She
dusted and tidied the room, went along to her own room and gave it
the same treatment. There were still sounds in the roof, and on an
impulse she walked along the corridor to the end bathroom, entered it,
passed round the step-ladder and looked up at the open trap.

She saw torchlight and called:

 "Mr. Fenner, I'm going down to Pelton for supplies. Do you
need anything?"
He answered without showing himself. "I'm patching up, as your
father did, but the whole place needs rewiring.

As soon as we can we'll get a man on it."

"Nothing you want now?"

"Not for this. Don't forget the kerosene. And for heaven's sake
get hold of a home help!"
"I'll try. You ... do think it's safe to order food for

three men?"

"They'll come," he answered tersely, and let go at some-thing

with" a hammer.

Tess lifted an apprehensive eyebrow and went down-stairs.

Hurriedly, just in case someone should look in, she cleaned out the
lounge fireplace and dusted the room. Then she went out to the barn,
patted the old Buick and

said:
 "Don't worry about this stable companion of yours. The
streamlined job only belongs to a man, but you're

luckier—you're mine!"

She gave a patronizing kick at the front tire of the tan estate car
and slipped into her own driving seat; after which she felt much more
like Tess of Garth House. In fact, as she left the place behind she
began to hum to

herself.
It was the sort of perfect morning you get in British Columbia
after summer rain. Warm and windless, sparkl-ing clear fragrant with
the scent of rock-flowers and even sweet-tasting on the lips. Spruce
and hemlock looked clean and arrogant; the crags beyond the lake,
visible now and then as she moved down the road, were warm-

"30

toned among their growth and the distant mountains were a hazy
amethyst. Life itself had a fresh-sprung look, a glorious newness.

Where the road forked Tess angled to the right. The road to the
left went straight down to the luxurious end of the lake. If she had
stopped just there, at the fork, she could have looked down upon gaily
painted canoes, a pretty stonework pier, thatched roofs of summer
cottages, and the elaborately-casual frontage of the Lake Kenegan
Hotel. That was where the Pelton townspeople spent their week-ends,
where people from Alberta and Saskatchewan fished and swam, rode
and danced, and had camp-fire parties during month4ong vacations.
Tess had been to the hotel once, for dinner on her eighteenth birthday;
her father

had insisted on it, and spent the whole evening promising her
mother and herself that one day they would own such a set-up
themselves.

When Tess thought about it now it seemed a rather pitiful

ambition, but she was wise enough to realize that her father had felt
that in taking his family away from England he had failed her mother,
and he was anxious to make up for the failure at least financially. She
won-dered, idly, what constituted a successful marriage; knew,
suddenly, that her ignorance about the whole business of loving and
marrying was abysmal. Perhaps no one really thought it out until
faced with the reality of a proposal.

Odd about Mr. Fenner. She could imagine him working

absorbedly through one of his contracts, remembering to write to the
girl of his choice about once a month, and arriving home to find her
married.. to someone else. And then, condescendingly free to think
and feel, he'd be furious. Not hurt, but raging mad that any girl could
do such a thing to Steve Fenner. And after that it would be

a case of once stung. He knew all about women; you could tell it
in the way he spoke even to someone as negligible

as Tess, in the way he had guessed her thoughts when the lights
had failed and she had realized they were alone last night.

Hurriedly Tess altered the course of her reflections. She would

get five pounds of bacon, six dozen eggs, a side of mutton, a few
pounds of stewing steak, some kidneys and sausages, plenty of
vegetables, fruit and salads, some flour,

31

dried fruits and cereals. Oh, and yeast cakes. She wasn't such a
good bread-maker as her mother, but travelling into town each day for
bread would take too much time. Actually, housekeeping for three
men wasn't such a colossal task-; it was/caring for them in such a
sprawling, inconvenient place as Garth House that would take time
and energy. The boiler fire to be kept going for hot water, the stove
for cooking, the great lounge to be kept polished and neat, the rugs
and stairs, corridors and bedrooms. There was a vacuum cleaner and a
polisher of sorts, but

no washing machine. Yes, there'd be the washing and ironing,

too. Still, the whole thing was manageable, so that if she had to make
do with a helper who was fairly old it wouldn't matter very much. Just
so long as there was

another woman about the place.

The road wound down between a few small scattered

farms, ran straight through apple orchards into the wide

main street of Pelton. Modern shops lined the street, a good

number of cars were parked in the diagonal bays, and

people were shopping and gossiping on the pavements. Tess

had always felt rather detached about the people of

Pelton; they led sociable lives, had their two cinemas, hotel

dances, their country club way over on West Hill, a fine

 swimming pool, golf course and sports field. In the popula-

tion of twenty thousand there was even an "upper layer"

that led the town in pursuits and fashions. The whole of

Pelton seemed to be conscious of itself as a community run

on modern but leisurely lines.

The people of Pelton were hospitable, yet Tess had never

entered one of their homes. Indeed, in her four years at Lake.
Kenegan she had received only two invitations, both from chance
visitors to Garth House. One had come from

a nervous young man who had studiously skirted the subject for
an hour before asking Tess to be his partner at some function, and the
other had emanated from an enamelled woman who had first stated,
rather loudly, that "something should be done about that girl." Tess
had smilingly declined both offers, and forgotten them. In slacks or
jeans she was like any other local girl of her age. In frocks she was
about four years out of date; which was why her dresses hung right at
the back of her wardrobe, clean for the most part but undisturbed.
32

This morning,- Tess entered the big general store and

gave her orders. She made inquiries about securing the
services of someone who might like a month or two at
Lake Kenegan, and people shrugged and told her she
hadn't much hope. All the available seasonable help was
out at the Lake Kenegan Hotel. No, they didn't even
know of an oldish type who was in need of a change from
Pelton. Sorry. In the end, Tess left an advertisement at
the offices of the bi-weekly newspaper, made sure that
all her goods were stowed and set off for home. With luck,
she would have time for a cup of tea before preparing the
lunch.
But her luck was out. Eight miles along the road and
three miles from Garth House, her off-side back tire
went flat. She got out and viewed the poor mangled thing,
thought of the spare tire way down under the supplies in
the boot and sighed. Several times she had helped her
father change a tire, but in the year that she alone had
been responsible for the car she had watched it carefully,
and so far avoided a flat on a deserted road. If it had
happened a couple of miles back she would have been
near enough to the Lake Kenegan Hotel to be sure of
 meeting another car fairly soon, but the road now led
only to Garth House and a couple of farms, and traffic
was scarce.
Methodically, she emptied the boot of the car and lifted out the
spare tire. She found the jack and placed it in position, used all her
strength on it before searching for a spanner. She was kneeling in the
muddy road with her head down near the wheel when another car
ground over the stony road and stopped alongside the spattered Buick.
Tess got up, shoved back her hair with grubby fingers.
Her cheeks were pink, her expression exasperated.
"Am I glad to see you!" she said to the man who had stepped
from a black sedan. "I've got a prize flat and I can't undo the nuts."
Then she realized there were two men, one of them in the late thirties
and the other about twenty-nine, and she added with relief, "You must
be the two guests for Garth House!"

"Yes, we are," said the elder. "I'm George Maxwell and this is
Roland Kain. You'd better let us fix the tire for you."

"But you're not due till nooni"

The younger man, darkish and exceptionally good-looking in a

slim, fine-featured way, smiled with enjoy-ment. "Has your watch
stopped? It's five to twelve now."
 "Oh, dear, and you'll want lunch at one. Look here, will you fix
the tire and drive up in my car? If you don't mind

I'll take yours."

"What! We don't even know who you are." •

Tess Harvey," she said hurriedly. "Just put the cartoa of eggs
into the back seat of your bus and let me get going. It's only three
miles, so I'm not likely to do it any
harm."

"You stay here, girlie," said Roland Kain. "We're not sticklers
for a one o'clock lunch, and George is fond of
this car."

"No, let her take it," said the older man. His smile was slow and
rugged, but exceptionally pleasant. "Has Steve gone out this morning,
Miss Harvey?"
"I don't think so. I left him repairing the electric wiring." Roland
Kain laughed outright. "Sounds as if you're the

only new article up here. Imagine Steve being caught up in the

chores about the place! I'll bet he's chafing."
 "He is, a bit," she admitted. She looked at George Max-well,
saw that he was of a heavier build, and sand-brown in coloring. That
smile of his was ineffably kind but just slightly tired-looking. "If you
wouldn't mind my using your car I'd be awfully grateful," she said.
"We cook on a wood stove and it takes half an hour to get really hot."

"Go right ahead," he said. "And don't worry about the eggs. I'll
see that we don't break any."

"Thanks." She had opened the door of the black car and slipped
behind the wheel, and was eyeing the shining dashboard. "She's a
beauty, Mr. Maxwell. I promise not to leave a speck of dust on your
upholstery and to rub off my fingerprints!"

"Don't worry about that. You'll find the gears very similar to the
Buick's. Don't race her."

"Of course not." She switched on, slipped in the gear and started
the car moving. "Be seeing you!"
It was an English cay of medium size, smooth-running even on
the rough road, and a pleasure to handle after the bucking thing she
was accustomed to. In no time at all

34
 she was curving down towards the front of Garth House» The
place seemed even more deserted than when she had

left it. The tan estate car was in the barn, but in the house hung a
deathly quiet. The kitchen stove had been filled and was flaming
merrily and a pile of split logs lay drying at the back of it. The blue
ash tray on the window-sill had a cigarette stubbed out in it, and there
were muddy foot-marks near the back door. Tess wiped them away
and looked outside. Not a soul, anywhere.

Upstairs, she changed into clean slacks and shirt, noticed that
the step-ladder had disappeared from the bathroom
and the trap-door replaced. She tried a switch and found it
worked; good for Mr. Fenner, who apparently was a notorious chafer
in the domestic realm.

The other two seemed to be pleasant, Mr. Maxwell especially.

The younger one, Roland Kain, was probably too good-looking to be
entirely nice, but it wasn't im-portant. Which was the geologist and
which the Surveyor?
Tess returned to the kitchen and started preparations for lunch.
Ten minutes later the old car crunched to a
 halt outside, and the two men came in laden with packages. Tess
showed them the way to the kitchen, went ahead of them upstairs and
into their rooms.

"All our rooms are doubles, but I thought you'd like one each,"
she said. "Mr. Fenner will explain to you how things are here. We
were closing down, but as we're the nearest place to your mine it
seemd to be best for you to stay here, even though we're not geared
for guests. I'll make you as comfortable as I can."

"We'll be fine," said George.

"I can't wait to know more about this place . . . and you," said
Roland Kain. "You've got me guessing, sweetie."

"And you'll stay that way," remarked Steve Fenner, as

he came from his own room and joined the three of them in the
next doorway. "How goes it, George?"

"Excuse me," murmured Tess.

"Just a minute." Steve leaned back on the door frame. "Bring a

woman back with you?"
 "I couldn't get one as easily as that. I've advertised, but it's the
wrong time of the year. People who want seasonal jobs make their
arrangements in early spring."

35

"We're not staying unless you do get someone. Quitt apart from
the fact that we're three bachelors, there's toe much work in running
the place. For a few days, till oui plant arrives, we shan't be able to do
a great deal on the site, but after that we'll be too busy to help much
here, except at weekends."

"I know all about Garth House," she said. "You let me do the
worrying."

There was a moment's silence. Then Roland Kain ex-plained,

softly, "No one talks like that to Steve, Miss Harvey. He runs things
or they don't get run."

"Cut along, child," said Steve calmly. "We'll deal with the
problems as they turn up."

Tess lifted an eyebrow and left them. Momentarily, as she ran

down the stairs, she -wished all three men were like George Maxwell,
quiet, kind and a bit set in their ways. Roland Kain, she surmised,
didn't care a lot for Steve Fenner, and Steve was probably indifferent
to Roland Kain. That was the troubel with Steve Fenner; emotionally,
he was pretty well indifferent to everyone, and that in-difference
made him strong and demanding. It also made him the most irritating,
tantalizing creature Tess had ever

met.

However, it was always best to ignore the character and

personality of the guests; Tess had discovered that long ago. You
gave them clean comfortable bedrooms, a well kept lounge and good
food, and left their private lives severely alone. That way, you forgot
them the moment they had left and were receptive to newcomers.

Singing blithely to herself, she prepared vegetables and set them

to cook, speared sausages and placed them with several rashers of
bacon in a big square tin on top of the stove, to cook gently and
thoroughly. She placed half a dozen cored apples inside the oven,
filled last night's pastry cases with bottled peaches and cut some new
bread. Then, having stored all her purchases in the vast old fridge and
the food cupboards, she looked about the kitchen.

No doubt about it, until she had help the men would have to eat
in here; Steve Fenner would insist on it. So her next task was to
construct a dining nook. With the table pushed over to he window,
and a place laid at each end with one facing the garden, they could be
quite cut

36

off from the cooking 'if not from its smell. At one side there was
the wall, and at the other she might stand one of those backless
bookc'ases from the hall.

Tess lugged it in and set it where she wanted it. What could she
put on the shelves? The two miniature ivy plants midway, two
ashtrays within easy reach of the table and on the top shelf the brass
lamp from the dining-room. It was the only piece of brass or copper
her mother ;had left behind—because it had been badly smashed on
the way out from England and cost a lot to repair.
She laid the table, stood back and surveyed the alcove. It needed
a tiny bowl of flowers, but she hadn't time to go out and collect some;
she might get them in time for din-ner. Pity that the window, since her
mother had taken the fine daffodil and crocus print, was quite bare,
but that too could be remedied this afternoon. There was some green-
and white plastic curtaining left over from the making
 of the shower curtain in the new bathroom. She hoped those
men would go out after lunch and leave her to get on with things in
her own way.

Normally, as the clock in the lounge struck one, Tess banged the
gong in the hall. Well, why not be as normal as one could, even in
unusual circumstances? She heard the clang of the clock, picked up
the drumstick and beat a tattoo. Through the open doorway she heard
the men on the stairs; Steve walking with George Maxwell and
talking earnestly, Roland Kain a little way behind them, looking a bit
cut off from the others. But the young man smiled cheerfully as he
came into the kitchen and saw

, Tess, in slacks and wearing a pink and white check apron,

dishing up the meat and vegetables.

"Take your places, will you?" she said politely. "I've been a bit
rushed this morning, so the food is homely, I'm afraid. Usually we
serve cold meats and salad as well as a grill of some sort, and I'll try
to do that for you in future."

"Don't bother with anything difficult," said George Max-well

quietly. "This looks wonderful."
"That's kind of you, but . . ."
 "But nothing," said Steve. "The weather is warm and we don't
need a cooked lunch. And don't kill yourself for the evening meal,
either. We're used to long spells of pork

37

and beans in camp." He examined the new arrangement, looked

at the table. "This is set for only three."

"I'll eat when you've finished. I'd rather."

"You'll eat now," he said.

With her teeth a little tight, Tess watched him take cutlery from
the drawer and set her place. She brought an extra plate, tightened a
little more as Steve seated

her beside Roland Kain opposite the window, before taking the
left side of the table, right next to her. She wasn't a

bit surprised when he took the pile of plates and ladled the food;
you got so that you expected anything of the man.
After the first five minutes talk flowed fairly smoothly. Roland
gave a picturesque description of their finding Tess under the old car,
and she discovered that he was the sur-veyor and George Maxwell the
geologist. George had been this way before, sampling the subsoil and
the rocks of an old working in the vicinity; he smiled faintly as he told
Tess that he had actually called in at Garth House for a drink one day,
and seen her racing down to the lake with

a dog.

"That was Fritz, our German shepherd," she said with a sigh. "I
thought I'd be leaving soon, and gave him away just over a week
ago."

"We'll get him back," said Steve.

"It wouldn't be fair to him, and I couldn't bear to part with him a
second time. He was a lovely boy."

"Oh, sure. Dogs often are."

"Haven't you ever been fond of a dog, Mr. Fenner?"

she asked.

"Fond? I don't mush over dogs, but I like them so long as they
keep their place."
 "That's really your philosophy in life, isn't it?" she said, as she
got up to clear away the plates and bring the apples and peach tartlets.
"You get along fine with everyone so long as they kept their place.
Well, do you mind if I

say something right now? As a hotel guest, you stay seated

while / do the serving. Your place is right there at the table, and mine
is where I am at this moment. Two baked apples? There's brown sugar
to your left."

"Sit down, honey, you .talk too much," he said coolly. "Kain
will get the coffee."

38

And that, maddeningly enough, was that. Defying Steve Penner

was like pummelling a steel wall. You finished where you started, but
badly bruised. Tess decided to leave things as they were till she got
help.

After lunch the men cleared out. From an upstairs window Tess
saw them down at the lake, inspecting the old boat-house and hauling
out the canoe. The boat, she was sure, would never meet with Mr.
Fenner's approval— too clumsy and light, too badly in need of
sandpapering and repainting. Well, if they wanted a boat—as they
surely would at the weekends—they'd have to smarten the thing up or
buy a new one. She saw Steve stride off alone into the woods, saw
George Maxwell leaning against an outcrop, and staring at the lake as
if he had a problem the size of a house on his shoulders. Roland Kain
had found a patch of grass, stretched himself out and ap-parently gone
to sleep. Flippantly, Tess decided that each was acting in character ...
so far.

On the old sewing machine she ran a double hem along two
lengths of plastic curtaining, and then hung them on the rod at the
kitchen window. She settled the evening's menu and ussd the old
polisher on the lounge and hall floors. At four-thirty s>he made a pot
of tea, poured a cup and drank it while filling the paraffin lamps; if
the wiring cut any more capers she would be ready for it!

She had just washed the smell from her fingers and gone back to
the table to refill her cup when Roland Kain sauntered into the
kitchen. In one so dark-haired his eyes were a little startling; a very
clear brown which, when daylight cut across them, seemed to change
color. His mouth, for a man, was a trifle too full, but his smooth,
thinnish face was attractive. In Tess's limited experience handsome
men were always conceited. Still, at the mo-ment he looked
companionable, leaning back against the wall behind the table and
glancing her way as she wiped her hands and hung up the towel
 "Like a cup of tea?" she asked.

"I'm not a tea man, but I'll take one if there's nothing else
going."

"Afraid not. Sugar?"

"Thanks." He took his cup, smiled at her. "Don't you sell

drinks?"

39

"Yes, but we haven't any. We ran out and didn't reorder. I

suggest you men order up for yourselves. In fact, you'll probably have
to collect the drinks yourselves, too."

( "I'm going down to Pelton. I'll do that." He paused. "Steve told

us your story. You're quite a girl, Tess."

"Not at all. In Canada, thousands of families live in much more

isolated spots than this."
 "But you're English, and alone. I come from England too; I was
twenty-four and I've been here five years."

"I guessed you weren't Canadian. Did you hear the call of the
wild?"

He shrugged. "The call of big money. I had the deuce of a sweat

to get through university, but eventually made it, though by then my
father was keeping me so short of cash that I looked a tramp. I
couldn't face living at home, but once I'd qualified he refused to stake
me any longer. They were advertising jobs with sizeable salaries out
here, so I came."
"Like it?"
"It's not bad in the cities. I hate these jobs, though. Though this
one," with a wink, "looks slightly more inter-esting. Anyone ever tell
you that a tanned skin .with whitish hair does things to a man?"

"Oh, yes. Some men seem to have the odd notion that coloring
tinges a girl's character, too. But don't you believe it."
"Is that a warning?"

"If you need one." Tess took a bag of peas from the vegetable
rack and set about shelling them. "Do you walk about with a
theodolite and take' measurements?"
 "Yes, some of the time. Don't you like talking about ' yourself?"

"Not much, and certainly not to strangers. Have you worked

with Mr. Fenner before?"

"Once, a couple of years ago; that was on a copper-nickel

mining project. I generally clear out before opera-tions start, but he
has everything going like clockwork before he moves on. I suppose
you've guessed that he's some engineer."

"He seems to know what he's doing," she answered guardedly.

"What about Mr. Maxwell?"

"George?" He emptied his cup and put it down on the table.

"Poor old George is in a bit of a tangle. If he weren't such a stick-in-
the-mud you could feel sorry for him."

"Does a man have to be spectacular before you'll spend pity on

him?"

Roland Kain looked surprised. "Say! You frighten me. I don't

care to be seen through so quickly." But he was grinning again. "After
all, George is thirty-seven and by now he ought to be able to handle
things, don't you think? Know anything about him?"
 "No." Had she not been a little affected by these men Tess
would have added, "And I'd rather not know any-thing about his
private life, thank you." But almost in-evitably, she said, "You can see
he has something on his mind. Can't you or Mr. Fenner help him?"

•"Gosh, no!" He had exclaimed swiftly, but took his time before
asking, "Can you imagine a worse dilemma than being responsible for
one little woman and wanting to marry another, who won't have you
till the first one is disposed of? Sounds cockeyed, but that's George's
prob-lem."

Tess picked up another bursting pod. "Woman trouble is the last

thing I expected to hear about Mr. Maxwell.
I understood he's a bachelor."
"So he is. Old George is the kind who plods on and on, doing a
thorough, praiseworthy job wherever he goes. Actually, I didn't know
anything about his private doings
till I met him in Vancouver a couple of days ago; then
1 had a few details from a friend of his. Seems George's father
died when he was a schoolboy and his mother mar-ried again. The
result was a half-sister who is now twenty-three or four. The
stepfather was one of these highly-

strung types and he went off the rails, with the result that
George had to look after both mother and half-sister. In
 a way, I suppose, that sort of set-up was easy for George, but
he's likely to take his duties too seriously. The mother was ill and
engaged a nurse who stayed until the mother's death. The nurse is the
woman he wants to marry."
"Well, if they're both free ..."
"The lady is, but not George. There's the half-sister."
"Is she ill, or .something? But if she were, the nurse . .."

"She's not ill. Just over a year ago she married one of these rich
young playboys; he had a single-seater plane

and one foggy afternoon he hit a hill. So the girl's a tragic little
widow, clinging to George, and it seems that George is now in a spot
where he has to choose between his duty. to her and his feelings for
the other woman. Needless
to say, the two women dislike each other intensely." "The poor
man," said Tess slowly. "It does seem that

they could make some compromise. His sister probably has a

home of her own. . . ."

"Not any more. She refuses to live alone."

"The sister must be alone now, with her brother up here."

 "She's staying in a ritzy hotel, but I doubt if she'll stick it. She
was the reason we were a day late in leaving Vancouver. George had
a time with her."

"Did you meet her."

"No," regretfully. "I did see the nurse, though, just for a
moment. She's one of those rather fine-looking, collected women,
around thirty."

"Oh, dear." Tess shook down the heap of peas in the bowl.
"What do you suppose he'll do?"

"Being George, he'll do the right thing if it kills him. And being
George, he'll decide that the most difficult course will be the right
one."

"But he does have a duty to the woman he's engaged to."

"They're not quite engaged. I gathered that he was hop-

ing to get her consent this time home, and to fix a date. The
company has already agreed to find him a house and use him as a
resident geologist. Except for little sister, everything would have been
fine."
 She nodded thoughtfully. "Yet you can't blame the sister
entirely. Losing her young husband must have been a terrible shock;
her brother is probably the only stable thing in her world just now."

He grimaced, as if wincing. "You're a female George! I always

thank heaven I've no family ties. Does a chap have to be desperate
before he gains your sympathy?"

She smiled. "I can't bear dumb suffering. If you ever suffer you
won't be dumb about it."

"How true." He straightened away from the wall. "I'd better be

on my way. I have to send a wire to headquarters

42

' telling them to address everything to Garth House, P.O.

; Pelton. I'm also instructed to contact an electrician, both

for here and at the site, and off my own bat I'll find a bottle
store. Like to go down town with me?"

"Sorry. Too busy."

 "You owe me a little for changing your tire this morning."

"I'll repay you some other time. If you want to be sure of finding
all your shops open you'd better hurry."

"I guess so. So long."

Tess heard him go whistling into the yard; the roar of a car as he
zoomed away. Keen on himself but quite agree-able, she decided. She
hadn't met many Englishmen at Kenegan; had forgotten that a good-
looking Englishman is rather a refreshing sight, even if there did
happen to be things about him one didn't care for very much. Then,

. feeling there ought to be a large fruit cake to cut at, she began
measuring ingredients and .forgot Roland Kain.

By seven the dinner was ready: fresh tomato soup,

a stuffed shoulder of lamb, peas, carrots and potatoes, and a fruit

salad of apples, cherries, halved plums and straw-berries, with a grape
here and there. She tidied her hair, washed her hands and sounded the
gong. Steve and George came in almost at once.
 "Sorry it's so warm in here," she said. "We'll keep the doors
wide. Would like some chilled fruit juice?"
Steve took the jug from the fridge and poured it out. "Kain
brought some drinks. If you can find room for them

; we'll cool a few bottles."

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Right here, baby," Roland said from the doorway. In one arm
he carried four bottles; the other hand was out-stretched, offering a
box of chocolates. "For the blonde with forget-me-not blue eyes. Ta-
ra-ral"

Tess took the box awkwardly, slanted a quick glance at the other
two men and said matter-of-factly, "Thanks, but don't ever do
anything like this again. I ... I don't want presents from any of you."

; "Oh, come on," said Roland, relinquishing the bottles.

: "Loosen up. What part of Eangland do you come from?"

I "Warwickshire."

; 43
 "I come from Gloucester, so we're practically next-door
neighbors. If we'd stayed over there I'd probably have met you at a
cricket match. The next step would have been a theatre, and who ever
takes a girl to a theatre without giving her chocolates? The dinner
smells good. Let me take the tureen for you."

Something, Tess isalized as they ate, had been destroyed.

Something which was vital to this close relationship which only one
of them seemed to want. At lunch, a cool friendly atmosphere had
seemed possible; the men would give help whom she needed it and if
she were too busy to provide more than a dull meal they wouldn't
complain. In fact, they were keen to be little trouble. Now she knew
that they had kept clear of the house this afternoon for her benefit.
There must be plans to discuss, methods of working, the housing of
the laborers to arrange, supplies for the workers; instead of getting
down to their problems they had split up out-doors and left her free to
get organized. That was how it seemed, anyway.

She felt a bit sick and fed up, and sat through dinner almost in
silence. Roland was talkative, George smiled at her encouragingly,
but Steve looked disinterested and pre-occupied. Bother him, she
thought crossly, it's not my fault that his surveyor happens to be a
ladies' man.
 When the coffee was ready she stood up. "I'll serve coffee for
you men in the lounge, if you don't mind. You can talk in there as
long as you like."
There was a brief silence. Then Steve said, "A good idea. We'll
take the tray with us. Pour your own cup first."

She did, not very steadily. As she replaced the pot her hand
brushed his and involuntarily she looked up at him. There was a
mocking glint in the grey eyes, a calculating half-smile on the well-
defined mouth; he was strong and challenging and quite
uncomprehensible. Tess had always been reckoned intelligent, but to
deal with some men you need more than intelligence; you need a
double share of intuition and sharp wits. She was glad when she had
the kitchen once. more to herself.

Ten minutes later George came in to help with the clearing up.
Of the three, Tess thought thankfully, he was the one she would have
chosen. He was quiet and elder-brotherly, seemed to know
instinctively where things were

kept, and he didn't look as ass wiping dishes. George didn't ask
probing questions or flatter her, he didn't have that I-am-not-as-other-
men attitdue. He merely rolled his shirt-sleeves above his elbows, got
on with the job and spoke only as if she were Tess Harvey, who he
had met just a few hours ago and was glad to know.
 His sandy coloring, she decided .suited him very well, though he
shouldn't have been grey at the temples just yet. She liked his good,
rugged features, his smell of tobacco smoke, the pleasant look which
wasn't quite a smile. He was dependable, stoical and altogether nice.
By the time he had piled wood on the back of the stove for the morn-
ing and departed to attend to the boiler fire in the base-ment, Tess was
robustly partisan about George Maxwell.

She went upstairs, thinking she would have a bath and get to
bed. But through her window she saw starlight over the lake and felt
the summer breeze, and on an impulse she slipped a cardigan over
her .blouse and went down-stairs again, and out of the back door.
Keeping away from the house she found a path to the lakeside,
reached her favorite spot and sat down on the rustic bench which was
one of the first things her father had made at Kenegan. • She lay back
with her arm along the back of the bench and her heels dug into the
soft earth. A few insects whir-red softly, but it was very peaceful, like
lots of other summer nights she had known. There had never been
much noise in the evening at Garth House; the radio occasionally,
perhaps a guest who played some musical instrument or sang; never a
raucous noise, because the people who came to Garth House had been
white-collar workers who found that living an outdoor life was
physic-ally tiring.
 For Canada, Lake Kenegan was tiny, hardly more than eight
miles long and only two miles across at its widest spot. Several
streams spilled into it, gurgling down over the rocks and foaming
through growth in unexpected places to form rapids, and most of its
shores were lined with Douglas firs and hemlock, spruce and white-
oaks. Tess had seen huge mechanical equipment handling immense
pines for the sawmill in Pelton. She had also seen a small pine forest
after a hurricane, the trunks criss-crossed on the ground.

45

Down at the lower end of the lake, where the hotels and summer
cottages were filled for six months of the year, the streams had been
coerced to run under arty bridges and there were pools where trout
spawned. Everything there was done with an eye to rich tourists.
Comparatively, this end of the lake was unspoiled, and Tess still felt
she didn't want to be here when progress came.

Yet the thought of leaving Canada was beginning to hurt a little.

Until her mother had left, and even afterwards,

she .had philosophically accepted the fact that they must sell and
make a fresh start in England. It was only during the last day or two,
really, that...
 She stiffened and sat very still. A tall, broad-shouldered figure
stood just over there, on the other path. It was Steve, taking a last
stroll before bed. He had paused with his hands in his pockets, looked
up at the sky and across at

the wide reach of water which starlight had varnished dully and
beautifully. In a light shirt and slacks he looked to be more part of this
place than anyone she had ever known. He had the vitality of the
young country, the strength needed to develop it, the ruthlessness (hat
would wring the utmost from that strength. For some reason Tess
ached a little.

He fumed and saw her, came across the rocks and patches of
wild flowers. "Hallo, there," he said. "Why are you mooning by the
lake?"

"I'm not mooning."

He sat down at her side, and she drew her arm from behind him.
He smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. "Does it feel odd to have
your arm round a man? What about Dickie-boy? Do you ever spoon
down here with him?"
"What's it to you, Mr. Fenner?"
"Oh, come—make it Steve. Were you feeling lonely?"
 "No."

"A bit sad?"

"Only because things change, and I don't want them to."

"What is it you're so keen to keep—that girlish out-look?*' Just

slightly his tone changed. "Did Kain unsettle

you today?"

"Of course not. He was most pleasant."

46

/"
"Then why did you leave his chocolates unopened in the
kitchen? Don't you like chocolates?"

"I love them," she said, on a dogged note. "I'll get them when I
go in."
 "You won't, honey. I shoved the whole box in the fire." She
stared at him, her eyes large and bright in the dark-

ness. "Why on earth should you do that?"

He shrugged, but sounded a little sharp. "Kain looked for you in

the kitchen; he's all right, but he was bound to follow up the gift—
that's his nature. I told him to leave you alone, and to ram home the
point I dropped his offering in the fire."

"Hell hate you for that."

^ "I don't think so, but I can cope," he said tolerantly. We're
back where we were at lunch-time, and that's where

we'll stay. No complications of any kind. You're far too young

and innocent to be caught up with any of us. I've told you before, you
need plenty of experience with boys round your own age before you
get entangled with the big stuff."

She smiled slightly. "Are you big stuff—an three of you?"

"Let's say we're well beyond the cub stage. Kain has had dozens
of girls and has no intention of marrying. George
 ... well, George has problems as well as a woman he wants but
can't have."

"And you, of course, are immune. That must be rather a godlike

state, Mr. Fenner." .

"I like it," he said equably. "It gives one an objective slant on all
women. Isn't it time you went indoors? You've had a long day."

"Not so very. You had breakfast and were striding about in the
roof when I got up."
"I'm not a stripling female. Come on, let's go."

He took her elbow in an impersonal grip and marched her

swiftly up the rocky slope, sweeping her over the obstacles on the
way to the house, with its one or two winking windows. Tess found
herself growing hot and a little excited. As they paused in the dim
light of the porch she had an astonishing urge to laugh aloud.
Involuntarily she did clutch at the sleeve of his shirt and look up at

47

Mm with dancing eyes and-parted lips. In the same moment she

felt him harden, saw a cynicism in his eyes. ' •
 "Go on in," he said curtly. "Good night."

She passed him and entered the house, mounted the stairs at
once, unconscious that her hand was pressing against her heart as if to
ease the effect of a sudden blow.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR the next couple of days Tess was so busy that she had no
time at all for examining her emotions, and by the time she had more
freedom the state of her feelings had changed a little and become far
less important than other things.

There were two replies to her advertisement in the Pelton

Advertiser. One from an old pensioner who stated optimistically that
he was willing to do a few chores about Garth House in return for a
room and board and the chance of good fishing, and the second from
a woman who had worked for Mrs. Harvey a year ago but was now
unable to do a full-time job. She said she would willingly undertake
all the laundry in her own home and could spend the whole of each
Thursday polishing and scrubbing out the rooms of Garth House. Tess
accepted the latter offer; she arranged to deliver the laundry each
Monday and to collect it and Mrs. Wills on Thursdays at 8 a.m.
 In Steve's opinion the arrangement was only one degree better
than present circumstances. Tess would still have full responsibility
for every single item, and it was too much for a girl of her age. He
refused to accept the

set-up as final, yet admitted, exasperatedly, that it seemed

impossible to get a home help till the season waned. He was
obviously relieved when he received news that the mining gear was
waiting at the junction for his instructions, and that the first crew of
workmen would be arriving in

a lorry at the weekend.

From then on, the men had breakfast at seven and cleared off
with a packed lunch an hour later. Tess next saw them at about five,
and they spent the evenings over drawings and sheets of figures. The
very fact of their being absent all day eased things considerably, and
she found it wasn't necessary to bake bread after all. She had time to
slip into town whenever she wished.
With surprise, one, afternoon, she realized that the three men
had been at Kenegan a whole week and that already she had slipped
into a routine; a routine, moreover, which

49
 strangely cut her off from the rest of the district. About Pelton
she had never known more than one could learn in the local paper; the
activities of this social club and that, sports results, wedding reports, a
spattering of petty crime. But through Dick and her mother's
friendship with his father, she had been fairly close to the Nielands;
scarcely a day had passed but father or son had called at Garth House
for a cup of tea or a glass of lager. It seemed that neither of them had
yet returned from Calgary. Mrs. Lesley seldom stirred from Blue
Valley, but she had offered to do some cooking for Garth House while
she was more or less idle. Tess wondered, and then suddenly, late that
afternoon, she decided to drive over to the ranch. After -all, she had a
legitimate reason for wanting to see Mr. Nieland.

The weather was sunless and sultry; before long there would be
storms, and then the weather would clear and be cooler than it had
been lately. The ranch looked sleepy, but as she drove through the
small pasture to the house the foreman came from an outhouse and
tipped a finger at his Stetson.

"Good afternoon. Miss Harvey. Nobody's home. Can I you?"

"I wondered what was happening. Have you had any news from
Mr. Nieland?"
 "Mrs. Lesley had a letter about four days ago and told me no
one would be home for several days, so she was going to her sister at
Prince George. She shut up the house and gave me the key. Said Dick
would be home first and to tell him to send her a wire."

"Mysterious, isn't it?"

"I knew there was trouble with a cousin of Mr. Nieland's in

Calgary. Business was .folding up, I believe, and Mr. Nieland had
financed it. Something like that. Those things take time to deal with."

"Yes, I suppose so. My business can wait."

"Getting on all right on your own?"

"Fine, thanks. I only came over because I was curious.

Goodbye."
On her way back to the lake, Tess thought about Steve's
proposition. Quite soon, now, her mother's ready cash would run out
and she would need the purchase price of

50
 Garth House, or part of it at least. Steve's offer of that sum for a
half-share was tempting, but it could not be accepted till she had Mr.
Nieland's agreement and her mother's consent. Her mother, Tess
knew, would not

. accept even the most attractive terms without Mr. Nieland's

endorsement. They were contemporaries and admired each other; as
far as they were concerned Tess was a minor and unable to make
decisions.
She ran the old car into the barn and went indoors to

; start dinner. The electric water pump had gone haywire '•
again and she could hear it chugging away and pumping

nothing. She switched off the electricity and slipped round to the
little brick kennel in which the pump was housed,

; fed it oil, switched on again and watched the pressure

I; gauge; the needle began to climb and she sighed. It would i be
good to have things that worked indefinitely, without
^ care. Everything at Garth House had been cheap to begin I.
with and was just about ready for replacement. She hoped | the wiring
wouldn't give out again before the electrician I. was free to rewire the
premises. He'd promisd to come
yearly next week to do the whole job.
 1^ She needed potatoes, sliced beans, scrubbed new carrots
It/and cut up a pumpkin, arranged a dozen cutlets in a pan ^gand set
the strained stock to simmer for soup. She made |;;a pie of chopped
apples, raisins, nuts, cinnamon and short t'trust, and put it in the oven.
Then she laid the table and

^looked at her watch. Nearly six; they were late this I? evening.

H'- They came in ten minutes later, said "Hi," as they passed
H'through the kitchen on their way upstairs. Roland Kain ||"winked at
Tess. "What about a movie tonight, sweetie-pie?" Jji^he asked, and
she smiled. It was one of his gambits and
|*as usual it misfired. He went up behind the others.
8, At a quarter to seven she served the dinner. There were
g;the customary questions: how had she been making
11-out . . .? any mail from her mother . . .? any visitors? IF
"None at all. Are you expecting any?" she asked.

|fc "My last girl might chase me up," said Roland face-
JJItiously, "but I think her red head was synthetic; deep down
gshe's probably a phlegmatic mouse-color."
^ "And glad to be rid of you," Tess commented. She y^ooksd at
Steve. "Are you expecting someone?"
 "There'll be company directors, but not for a month or
two." r

, "And George?"

The older man smiled perfunctorily and made no answer. He ate

as well as the others, but still looked sick, Tess thought. Both he and
Steve were cagey. It was Roland

who helped to clear tonight, and Tess was rather glad. Now that
the young surveyor knew where he stood with her he was quite good
fun; she promised him that one evening she really would go with him
to a movie. He had gone down to the boiler fire and she was spreading
the breakfast cloth when a car drew up outside.

Tess straightened and listened, but it was impossible to hear

from the back of the building what was going on at the front. She
shrugged and completed the table, decided to look through the dozen
pairs of socks she had. washed this morning. Whoever had turned up
out there was acquainted with Steve and George—probably one of
their men from the camp at the site. She found a skein of shaded
wools and a darning needle, rummaged in the work-box for small
scissors; good thing her mother couldn't see the box as it was now.
Mrs. Harvey had been fond of saying that if everything was replaced
neatly after use one's work was halved; but then you had to have time
to remember.

"Tess!"

She wished her heart wouldn't jump alarmingly when Steve used
her name; it was absurd. "Coming," she called, and resignedly pulled
the sock from her hand and laid

it on the table.

Quite what she thought he might want Tess couldn't have said.
Sometimes he even called her to sit with them— "so that we know
you're resting, you little nitwit." She went through the hall and into
the half-lit lounge, stopped abruptly.

There was a girl in one of the chairs, a small creature with very
pale skin and a cloud of smoky dark hair— masses of hair for
someone so delicately boned. She had wide. topaz eyes, small regular
features and wrists which looked terribly fragile below the three-
quarter sleeves of a smart purple tweed frock.
Gorge Maxwell was standing beside her, smiling anxiously.
"This is my sister, Tess—Anita Vance. She
 52

threatened to come, but I didn't for a moment think she would

drive all that way. Anita, Tess Harvey runs this place and looks after
us."

The girl spoke in a childish, hus&y voice; she sounded

appealing. "How do you do. George tells me I can't stay here, that I'll
have to stay in Pelton. But you do have spare bedrooms, don't you? I
wouldn't be a bit of trouble, I promise. I do so want to be near
George."

Tess looked at George, saw that he was torn between the desire
to have this sister of his close, where he could look after and comfort
her, and the knowledge that Anita Vance might be in the way. Then
Tess looked at Steve, and the heart which had jumped a minute ago
did some-thing equally upsetting; it plunged steeply. For Steve was
smiling openly at George's half-sister, and looking as if it were a long
time since he had seen anything so pathetic and yet refreshing as this
tiny little thing from Vancouver.

She said, "I'm sure we can fix you up, Mrs. Vance. Welcome to
Garth House."

"Can you cook?" Steve asked Anita.

 "Quite well," she answered. "Even if I'd known that you were ail
staying in an odd place like this, I'd still have come. George darling,
don't look like that—as if my coming has brought your worry closer.
You're all I have."

George looked shocked. "My dear, I'm glad you were able to
find this place in the dark. You must certainly remain here tonight,
and tomorrow we'll talk it over. Have you had dinner?"

"I did have a glass of milk and a sandwich at a drug

. store in Pelton. They told me how to get here."

"You must have something more solid!"

"I'm not hungry, George darling, but I would like a cup of

coffee." Then, with tender pleading, she added something which
dictated Tess's future treatment of her. "I'll be so pleased to get it
myself."

Tess said flatly, "We'll wait till you're an inmate before teaching
you the ropes. You stay here. I'll get the coffee."
When she arrived back in the kitchen Tess found her hands
clenched. Roland was stacking the nightly load of logs on the back of
the stove, and he asked casually, "Who is it—that big Butch chap
from the camp?"

53

"No," she answered evenly. "It's that small Anita girl from
Vancouver—George's half-sister. You'd better go through and take a
look; that'll make three of you she's bowled over."

Roland looked interested. "She that sort? She's got money, too. I
must have a dekko at this!"

Tess made the coffee, set a tray and was arranging a few cookies
on a plate when George came in. For George, he appeared slightly
flushed and apologetic. He didn't quite look at Tess.

"This is exceedingly kind of you," he said. "I wouldn't have let

you 'in for anything more-—you know that, don't you?"

"It's quite all right, George."

"She'll help you a lot as soon as she's over the trip. I ... I did
think of asking whether you'd care to have Anita, but somehow I
couldn't get round to it. She's terribly lonely, and it does help her to be
near me; she's looking better already."

"I'll make up a bed for her. Are you taking the tray?" "Of course.
Tess . . ." he hesitated, a biggish, rugged
man, uncertain of himself. "I don't quite know how to ask
this . . . you see, Anita lost her husband a few months ago."

"Yes, I heard."

"She was married only a few months, and it broke her up.
She . . . well, she's never known anyone, sane and sweet as you are;
she's always ran with a rich, noisy crowd. I suppose I'm to blame; I
sent her to that kind of finishing school and never kept her short of
cash. She needs to know someone like you, someone who lives close
to things and isn't afraid. I was wondering—if we decide she's to
remain here, that is—whether you'd get her to talk and try to make her
see that the real things in life aren't very closely connected with
money and personal pleasures. As long as she can stick it out here, it
should do her a world of good in many ways. Will you help me?"

"I'll try, George," she said a bit stiffly, "though she has too much
experience to listen very hard to someone like me." She lifted her
head and saw a sort of stubborn pain in his'eyes, and being a softie,
she relented. "Just being
 54

here, away from her usual crowd, may help your sister no end,
George. I'll do what I can."

"Thanks. I knew you would. She's a lovely thing, isn't she?"

Lovely as a tropic sapling, thought Tess. She nodded. "You and

she are not much alike."

"No. We each favor our own father. Hers was an artistic type,
fall temperament. He cleared off to the South Seas and died there." He
picked up the tray in his big brown hands. Awkwardly, he added. "I'll
pay the double bill each week; you and Anita can just be friendly,
without any

' • barriers of that kind. She really can cook a bit."

You could see, Tess thought, as she nodded and smiled at him
and then went upstairs, that he had taken it for granted his sister
would stay at Garth House for as long as he did. Well, why shouldn't
she? An extra guest would increase the income, and Anita Vance was
not likely to add much to the food bills. She looked as if she existed
on bird seed, though small people often ate prodigiously.

Tess's first impulse, bom of the years in which guests had been
given the best while the Harveys made do, was

:. to vacate the prize bedroom and make it neat and claa

for Anita. Then, rather quickly, she came out of her room and
slammed the door. There was an empty room on the other side of the
new bathroom; it had no balcony and the furnishings were older, but it
was otherwise as large and comfortable as the best room. Anita could
have that.

Tess made the bed and hung fresh towels in the bath-room. She
slipped the key into the lock of the bedroom door, made sure the
wardrobe drawers were lined and there were hangers on the rail. Then
she decided to have a bath and go to bed.

While she lay reading she heard sounds on the stairs. George
bringing up his sister's luggage. She called out the number of the
room and he answered gratefully. Then came the roar of water in the
bathroom, and Anita's phoney little high-school voice: "That's lovely,
George. I'm going to wallow."
 ^ Then George: "Have a long rest in the morning, Anita. I'm
sure this air is going to do you good."

"Oh, I'm certain of it, George, dear. You don't know

55

how .. . how wonderful it is to be with you again. Promise you'll

let me go wherever you go?"

"Of course. I must say it worried me—leaving you in

Vancouver."

"Darling, you're so good to me. My big, big brother George."

Sounds of affection, against which Tess found herself stiffening

once more. Then the quiet closing of a door. Tess got up, listened for
a minute or two to the bath noises and then slipped on her flowered
cotton dressing-gown and went onto the balcony. It was very dark
tonight, and the sky pressed in heavily. The lake was black and silent,
the trees static and waiting.

She peered over the balcony wall and for a long time
 watched the lights downstairs. They went out, one by one,

and the men came up to bed. Tess felt wide awake, and

the thought of getting back into bed was stifling; had

she been a smoker she could have lit a cigarette and let

it steady her nerves, but all she could think of as a substi-

tute was a cup of tea. She ought really to go down while

they were still making sounds in their rooms, so that they

wouldn't hear her.

She switched off her light and saw that someone had put out the
corridor light, which was all to the good. Quietly, on bare feet, she
edged into the corridor, flitted along it and down the stairs. The
kitchen was at the back and only Roland had a back bedroom, and a
light down there wouldn't bother him; he was never curious about
such things.

The kettle she had left on the stove was fairly hot, and a few
sticks under it brought it to the boil. She made the tea, poured a cup
and sat down near the side table, where the socks she had been going
to mend still lay. She pushed them together in a heap, and leaned
back. Her eyes closed, and then, suddenly, they flicked wide open and
stared at Steve. He was still in white shirt and grey slacks, and he
looked nonchalant as he pressed out his cigarette on one of the
ashtrays on the bookshelf.

"Thought I heard you," he said. "Are you one of these midnight

eaters?"

"No, I fancied a cup of tea. Want one?"

56

"No, thanks. I'll get you a spot of whisky; it'll-make you sleep."

She didn't stop him, but when he came back from the

, dining-room, holding the bottle, she shook her head. "I'm ;

not a drinker, either."

He paused. "Either? What else aren't you?" •; "I was rather

wishing I were a smoker. They say a B cigarette makes you feel
good."
 I He placed the bottle on the table, took a packet of

j cigarettes from his pocket. "Come on, try one. It won't I'1 kill
you."

| "I may have a stab at it one day, but certainly not in I front of
you. Have a highball yourself."
| He put the cigarettes close to her. "Take them up to

1: your room and practise." He grinned, found a tumbler fe

and tipped an inch of whisky into it, then leaned across

j? and dropped about a spoonful into her tea. "What shall S'-we
drink to—the future of Garth House?"

"I'm afraid we can't decide anything about it yet. Maybe we'd

better drink to our new guest."

He sipped as she sipped tea, and looked at her, narrow-j,eyed.

"Anita's not your type, is she?"

: "Guests here don't have to be my type," she answered E

coolly. "How long is it since her husband died?"
 "It must be nearly six months. I remember George get-ting the
wire—we were up north watching the last opera-
Itions on a bridge, and poor old George was shattered. He didn't
like this young brother-in-law, but the chap was very keen on Anita
and very rich. I remember," reminis-cently, "that just before the bad
news broke, George was happier than I'd ever known him. He's a slow
worker, and I suppose jie'd just reached a point where he considered
»Anita was off his hands and he could ask Frances Brodie to marry
him. Maybe it was as well for Prances that 'George had taken his time.
It would have been too bad to have to break an engagement."

Tess tried a little more of the whisky-flavored tea, looked

attentively at the pale brown liquid as she said, "You sound as if you
think it was right for George to give up the idea of marrying in favor
of looking after his sister."
I. 57

"What's right for one might be wrong for another. George is one
of the old dependables and he had no option; Anita has come first
with him since she was a child, and he couldn't let her wade through
all the grief on her own."

"Of course not, but there should have been a time limit of sorts.
I mean," fingering her cup once more and looking away from him, "he
might have married and had his sister to live with them for a period,
say a year. It would have been good for Anita, and George and
this . ; . this Frances Brodie could have been happy as well."

Steve shrugged. "It wouldn't have worked. Even before I'd met
Anita I thought that. I must say," with a glint in his eye, "that she was
quite a surprise. That hair!"

She remembered his asking whether her own coloring was

natural. "You like brunettes?" she asked.

"Blondes as well, honey. I couldn't help thinking how different

you two were, when you were together, for a minute this evening.
She's like a hurt kitten."

To forestall whatever he might be going to add as a comparison

between herself and Anita, Tess asked quickly. "Have you ever met
Frances Brodie?"

He nodded. "She's a darned nice person. A good nurse, level-

headed, sophisticated, and very fond of George."
"Doesn't it grieve you a little to know that George has made her
so unhappy?"
"No, it doesn't," he answered sharply. "They're mature people
who can run their own lives. Anita is just a wounded, bewildered
child, and she'll probably need some-one to lean on till she marries
again. George couldn't? possibly turn her loose now."

"But why turn her loose? You say that if George married this
woman he's fond of he couldn't have Anita to live
with them. Why?"

"You're a sticker, aren't you? Got a soft corner for

George?" -

"Yes," she said honestly, "I believe I have. He's as big as you
are, and strong, but there's a look in his eyes sometimes that definitely
shouldn't be there. Of the three of you," she ended off-handedly, "I
find George the most touching."

58

; He laughed briefly, mockingly. "I wouldn't regard that ! as

a compliment if I were George. He's getting on a bit,

; you know. Thirty-seven."

 "What's that got to do with it?" she said shortly. "You still
haven't explained why Anita couldn't live with George if he married."

"It's simple. Frances wouldn't have it. She's known George for
eight years—known Anita too, of course. She told me herself that
she'd rather stay single than marry George and Anita."

"What's to stop Anita's renting a flat near them?"

He said impatiently, "I don't know, young Tess, and I don't care.
George is getting towards forty and Frances is thirty. There's nothing
impetuous or youthful about either of them. Compared with them,
Anita is just an unfortunate child who needs affection and
understanding. And in my opinion," he finished in level tones, "she
badly needs the right kind of husband."
"You . . i. think she'll find him?"

"It's possible. She's had her fling with the young and

: had to face tragedy. When she comes out of this trouble

she may be a thoroughly integrated young woman." He

' paused. "You're on Frances' side, aren't you? I wonder

why."
 She finished her tea, set down the cup. "I'm on no one's side; I'd
just like to see George happy. He'd make a won-derful husband."

"How do you know? He's done no more for you than Roland
has—or than I have, come to that."
"I don't judge men by what they do for me. George

is steady and reliable, keen on his job but anxious to settle.

He's capable of loving very deeply . . ."

"Well, well!"

". . . and he's loyal right through."

"But unexciting, little one; as prosaic as a good brown loaf." He

tossed down the last half-inch of whisky. "You know, there's a great
danger that you'll fall for someone

; like George and never know just how exciting love can
be." "Have you found it exhilirating?"
;' He smiled tantalizingly. "Maybe I'll tell you all about it

| .some time—might even teach you a thing' or two. How |

would you like to go to the country club at West Hill on
 |- ' , 59

Saturday? I dare say Kain could find a girl somewhere, and we

could make up a party of six."

"No, thanks."
"No frock?" he said shrewdly.
She ignored the question. "I'm simply the person who's running
Garth House; if you don't mind, I'll stay that way." Then, because
something hurt a little, she asked abruptly, "Why did you follow me
down here?"

But he had gone cool too. "Curiosity, I guess, and I wasn't

particularly sleepy." He nodded at her dressing-gown. "It's not a good
idea, coming down like that."

"It v/asn't a good idea to follow me, either," she replied quickly.
"Now that we have Mrs. Vance in the house we'll make a few
alterations. She'll lighten the work for me, so it won't be necessary
any longer for you men to eat in here. Breakfast, if you like, but that's
all. I'm quite sure she'd prefer to eat in the dining-room."
"That's all right—so long as you'll eat with us."
She shook her head decisively and stood up. "No, -that' finished.
You're paying hotel prices and you'll get hotel service. Also, if you
don't mind, you'll treat me as the person I am. I'll be grateful if you
men will continue to take turns at looking after the fires, but that's all.
I mean
it."
"Oh, sure," he drawled, a cold light in his eyes. "For a start,
then, you can leave the holes in those socks over there. Anita will
mend them for us."
"Very well."
"And now you'd better go up to bed!"
"I'll go when I'm ready."
"You'll go now, and I'll switch off the lights." "Steve . . ." Her
mouth trembled and she didn't try to
say anything more.

She walked past him and into the back hall, heard the snick of
the light switch and felt him close behind her as she mounted the
stairs. He passed his own bedroom, went with her to her door and
caught her arm. She was very small beside him.

"I don't know what's eating you," he said in low savage tones,
"but whatever it is, there's no reason for it. Why shouldn't we all have
some good times together?"

"Because I don't belong with you," she answered. Then she

glanced up at him, her blue eyes bright with tears. "Good night."
 Tess slipped into her room and closed the door, heard him swear
under his breath before going to his own room. She dabbed at her
eyes with a tissue, thinking vexedly that she must have been overtired
after all.

Why had she been so idotic down there? She might have
modernized one of her frocks for Saturday evening; and

it wouldn't have been so very difficult to serve as well as to eat

every evening in the dining-room. It was just that...

well, Anita's coming had made a difference. Before, Tess had

been an ordinary, fair young thing who cooked and sewed, dusted and
shopped and took a mild interest in their work. They were eleven
miles nearer to the site than if they had been staying at Pelton, and
there were Lake Kenegan, a boat and trout streams thrown in for the
week-ends. For those extra amenities they .were more than willing to
work a little. And of Tess, none of them had been critical.

Now, merely because a rich young widow had entered their

midst, everything was changed. Tess of the short, ashen hair, of jeans
and faded shirts, was just a girl about the place, and Anita, with her
small pale tragic face, her spectacular mass of smoky curls, her
fragility and costly simplicity, became the focus. It wasn't that Tess
wanted importance; it was the inevitable comparison that she disliked,
because it was unfair.

And yet, as she thought about Anita Vance, she felt pity and
wonder that such a small delicate creature could stand up to the
buffeting she had received. To fall in love and marry, to have one's
beloved husband snatched away after such a brief marriage. No, one
shouldn't grudge anything to Anita; she had suffered too much.

Tess went to bed and eventually to sleep. She dreamt of a wraith

in white with a billow of dark hair, weeping little-girl tears. . . .

Deliberately, Tess got up very early next morning, so that when

the men showed up for breakfast she was able to say she had had hers.
It was Thursday, and she went down to Pelton to collect the laundry
and Mrs. Wills. When she got back the men had been gone some
time, but

61

Anita, it seemed, had not yet left her room. Tess thought for a
moment, decided it was best to let the other girl form her own routine,
and began to help Mrs. Wills in the bed-rooms. She had seen Anita's
car drawn up beside the garage, a scarlet and chromium convertible of
film-star pro-portions. She had apparently driven it all the way from
Vancouver—no mean feat for one so frail-looking. No wonder she
was all in this morning.

At eleven, Tess gave Mrs. Wills some tea and listened to the
happenings in the Wills family since the woman had last worked at
Garth House. At twelve, she decided to prepare lunch for three, but
first she walked outside to look up at Anita's bedroom. The window,
which had Been latched open about six inches, was now wide, and the
thin girl stood there in a sheer white slip, her arms raised as she
brushed her hair. Tess waved.

"Are you coming down?"

"Yes, soon," came the husky little voice. "Is it warm enough for
a sun-frock?"

"I think so. How do you feel?"

"Marvellous. I'm going to love it here."

"Good. I'm getting lunch for a quarter to one. Do you like it hot
or cold?"

"I'm terribly hungry. Ham and eggs!"

 Tess waved again and went into the kitchen. Thank heaven the
girl was more normal than she looked. Ham and eggs for three
coming up!

As a try-out, she set the lunch table in the kitchen win-dow,

prettied it with flowers and fringed table napkins. Anita came in
almost breezily; a thin figure in a superb, narrow-cut scarlet frock
which showed off white shoulders and a slender neck. On her right
wrist she wore a bracelet packed with solid gold charms that jangled
pleasantly
as she moved.

She did say, "Do we eat in the kitchen?" But after Tess had
explained that it was only for today, because Mrs. Wills would feel
odd if she had to eat alone, Anita nodded her understanding. "I'd
rather have my lunch in here with you than in the dining-room alone,"
she said. "I just can't bear to be lonesome."

So far, so good. She ate well, drank two cups of coffee and
smoked a couple of cigarettes. She even conversed

62
 With Mrs. Wills. Tess felt her own thoughts had been

treacherous. Anita was just a girl of twenty-four who had

unluckily met grief in her first year of marriage and now

felt the need of all the family she knew—her brother. From

the way she spoke of him she obviously cared a great deal

for George, and the next step would surely take care of

his happiness. She merely had to live through a short while

without complicated relationships, and everything would be

fine.

"Do you swim?" Tess asked her, as they strolled outside. "Not
very much. The lakes are so cold. I can manage

a canoe, though, and I can sail a yacht. I have a yacht of my own

down at the Sound, ^ear home."
 Spoken without a tremor, which meant quite a lot. Tess smiled.
"I can handle a canoe, but I've never been on a yacht in my life. Did
you race at all?"

"Oh, yes. Larry was a great yachtsman—he could handle the

things when he was a child. He taught me."

Larry must be the husband; what a blessing that she could refer
to him so casually. Tess nodded towards the deep blue expanse of
Lake Kenegan. "Last year at this time we had the house full and
fishing enthusiasts used to wade out and stand still for hours. They'd
insist on cooking their catch outdoors most evenings. The women
were just as fanatical as the men."

Anita nodded. "It gets them. George fishes, you know."

"Yes, I suppose he does. He's the type."

"He's a dear. I don't know what I'd do without him." She looked
about her. "Not much doing here, is there? Shall we go into town?"

"I'm afraid I can't. Mrs. Wills can only come one day a week and
she may need help. Also I have to make fruit pies and get ready to
cook some beef for dinner. Those three men have colossal appetites."
 Anita wrinkled her small nose in distaste. "I can cook, but I
don't really like doing it. At home I had a French-Canadian chef and
he turned out superb dishes—even Larry used to like them, and he
never cared much about food. All he thought about was his plane, his
cars, his yacht . . .and me. In that order."

Anita's tone was flippant, appallingly so. Tess felt her

63

sinews tighten slightly, her apprehensions crowd back. "Did

you ever fly with him?" she asked.

"Only once; I was sick for a week after it." She slanted a
sidelong glance at Tess under her thick black lashes. - "Larry was
only the same age as I. We went mad together, had a tremendous
wedding and settled down in a modern mansion to play as hard as we
could. As playmates we were ideally suited."

"But he did love you very much?" Tess found herself asking.
"I think he did—as much as he could, anyway. He was a rich
man's son, you see, and everything always fell straight into his hands.
By a stroke of luck—through meet-ing an old school friend—I
suddenly -found myself in his set. It's not conceited to say I was more
attractive than

the other girls he knew—I just was. He fell, and the rest was
easy." She sighed, but without gloom. "You don't know how it felt—
marrying a man who could give me so so much. Old George had
always done his best for me, but he was only a geologist with a good
salary."

"He sent you to an excellent finishing school, I believe." Anita

smiled, showing her small white teeth between

beautifully reddened lips. "I'll always be grateful to him for that.

That was what thrust me into Larry's arms and made me acceptable to
his parents. Those finishing schools really do something for you; you
can go anywhere, handle anyone. Even poor George used to feel
awkward on occasions, because I had so much self-confidence. I used
to tell him afterwards that training carried me through, that I was just
jelly underneath. And he believed it, the sweet."

"Wasn't it true?"
 "True?" Anita pondered, her glance on the Douglas firs in the
distance, her mouth still smiling. "It was true at the beginning, but not
for long. I hated being poor."

"But were you poor?"

Anita gave a hoarse little laugh. "Not as poor as you seem to be,
but penniless compared with the people I wanted to know. Canadians
haven't the same upper class that you have in England, an exalted
section who can wear any old thing because they're who they are. To
enter the best circles here you have to have an air and expensive
clothes. I had the air, but very few clothes, because those

64

I chose cost the earth. I was in debt up to the brows when; I

married; since then I've spent a fortune on silks and minks, and Larry
has bought me every jewel I coveted."
"Has it made you happy?"
Anita slanted another of those looks at Tess, but this time it was
sharper. "Yes, it has. I was fond of Larry, but I'm not going to spoil
my life grieving for him. George has ten times as much character as
any of the Vances, and now that I have plenty of money I'd sooner be
with him for a while. He makes me feel wanted; much as Larry cared
for me, I never felt I was indispensable to him."

With studied casualness, Tess asked, "Do you feel you're

indispensable to your brother?"

"I think it's possible. He mourned my sudden bereave-ment

more than I mourned for Larry—and I was heart-broken, I can tell
you—for a while, anyway. I need

George." She lifted her slender shoulders and added, "I've had a
surfeit of the young set. Next time I marry I'll find someone older and
more exciting—because money won't matter this time, you see. I have
oceans of it."

That's how easy it is, thought Tess resignedly; for the Anitas of
this world, anyway. She nodded towards the visible tip of the scarlet
convertible. "That's a snappy roadster you came in. All that brand-
new power would scare the daylights out of me."
"She does go," said Anita contentedly. "I did an
average of eighty all the way from Vancouver."
"You'll have to be careful on the gravel roads."

"I can take any kind of road," Anita answered. "Larry used to
say I was a better driver than he was. I think
 I'll take a look at the town in daylight. Anyone I can call on for
you?"
"I collected my supplies this morning, thanks."
"I mean friends."
"I don't have any friends in Pelton."

This really gave Anita pause. She stared with those yellow-
brown eyes which were so out of keeping with the

rest of her coloring. "None at all? Do you get cosy with the
farming types?"

"There's just one family. You can't make friends here unless you
belong to the clubs. I haven't time for them."
"Golly, you are a hayseed. Well, don't expect me to

behave like a pie-faced half-wit. I've lived in a town all my life.

Sure you won't come?"
"Yes. See you later."

It was quite a relief to have the place to herself again, Tess

found. She went straight indoors, resisted an im-pulse to go upstairs
and catch a glimpse of that red monster on the road with the delicate,
white-skinned girl at the wheel, her hair flying from the white scarf,
her shoulders bare to the breeze.

At five o'clock, when she took Mrs. Wills back to town, Anita
had not returned, but when Tess got back to Garth House at five-thirty
the car was there, and Anita in her room. Tess went ahead with the
preparations for dinner, and she pushed the big table into the centre of
the dining-room. The six smaller tables and several chairs she carried
outside into a shed. For a moment she wondered whether to substitute
mats for the tablecloth and place candles

on the table. Then she thought: What the dickens, this • is a

guest house! And she laid places on the white table-
cloth for four.
The men came in the front way, and she heard all three go
straight upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, Roland came
down looking, for him, quite grave.

"That poor kid," he said. "No wonder she's so thin." A thread of

ice-water ran down Tess's spine. "What do
you mean?"
"Anita. I've never heard weeping like that. It scared
me."
 "Weeping?" Tess stood back from the table and gazed at him;
she remembered her dream, and shivered. "Per-haps I ought to go up."
"I shouldn't. George and Steve are with her, in her
room. I went to the door and looked in. She was lying
on the bed, half in George's arms, and Steve was pressing
a cold wet cloth to her forehead. I heard her tell them
that she'd tried so hard today to be happy, but that every-
thing suddenly seemed overwhelming. She said something
about . . . not missing Larry so much'as needing to be'
loved." He laughed apologetically. "You may not believe
it, but it's taken my appetite.".

Tess pulled the soup kettle to one side on the stove. She didn't
know what to think, how to act. Had it been a

I pose this afternoon, the poised but careless young widow

f who found herself rich and free to seek someone exciting? | If

so, Anita done it awfully well, considering her audience

t had consisted solely of one negligible female. But then, | if that

hadn't been an act, surely the weeping must be?
 F Or was it possible that Anita Vance was two women— i the
girl who had gone all out for a good time and a rich i husband, and a
tender pleading woman who was really a

|> ..little afraid of life and was genuinely and desperately in I'
need of security and love?

I Tess said off-handedly, "You'd better have a drink out I'

front. I'll call you when the others come down for

| dinner."

|- She didn't sound the gong, didn't do anything. She merely I."
Stood staring through the kitchen window at the distant

S, trees and wondering how many days it would take for I Steve
and George to exchange positions, for Steve to do

| the sheltering in his arms of that little girl upstairs while It

George ministered with a damp cloth and brotherly as-

fe^urances.
f •
fe
67

CHAPTER FOUR
 BY Saturday, the situation seemed to have ironed itself out. In
the morning Steve went off to the site for a couple of hours, but
George and Roland stayed at the lake and took Anita for a short tour
of inspection in the canoe. All five had lunch outdoors, and then it-
was Steve's turn to initiate the young woman into the mysteries of the
woods. Roland decided to go out to the country club that evening, and
when Tess declined his invitation he said he thought he'd rustle up
someone else; he'd met a family in town. He went off in George's car,
and Tess

was left lying in the hazy sunshine with George smoking his
pipe at her side.

For a long time there was silence, measured by a wood-pecking

sound from a near-by tree. Tess opened her eyes and looked at the
square shoulders and rugged features

of the man who sat staring at the lake. No way at all of telling
what he was thinking about. He must have realized he was being
watched, for suddenly he looked down. at her and smiled.

"Feel rested?"

"Yes, but I'm gouging holes in the ground with my shoulder-

blades. You know, George, I always think of you as a typical
Canadian. You have the correct accent, the look of a man who gets
things done and a nice sense of propriety."

"Steve is more of a Canadian than I am. I wasn't bom here."

. "No? I thought you were."

"I came from England as a child, with my parents. Steve's from

Toronto."

"Is that the Toronto stamp—the tolerant, cynical out-look?"

He laughed. "That's Steve's. It's not a bad way to be when you

have to handle several types of men and take responsibility. You like
him, don't you?"

Did she? Was it liking, the heat he could bring to her throat, the
sting to her eyes? She shook her head. "He's

68

tough and masculine and insufferably strong. I like a man to

have weaknesses; it makes him human."
 "How do you know Steve hasn't a weakness hidden away? A
woman did find it once, I believe."

"And when she did, he promptly got rid of it. I don't think any
woman will ever really get through to him again. He sort of ...
forestalls that kind of intimacy."

"Does he? How?"

She smiled deprecatingly. "I don't suppose he really bothers

much where I'm concerned, but right at the begin-ning I noticed that
he ... he attacks before you're ready. He goes just ahead of you, and
nails any thoughts you

' might have before you've spoken them. It's his way of
keeping a woman at a distance. Very effective."

"He's not that way with Anita."

"No," she agreed slowly. "No, he's not."

A faint wind rustled through the pines. George leaned back on

one elbow. "Anita's having been married makes a difference of
course, and he knows how desperately
 I want her to be happy again. I'm sure the outdoor life here, with
you as a companion and Steve to tease her and

, admire her, will do wonders for Anita. Till now she's

always

: run with a rum crowd, the offspring of the too-rich."

Carelessly, Tess asked, "What will happen when she's

tired of the Kenee'an district?"

"Somehow I don't think she'll tire before I'm through

. with this contract."

"How do you envisage the future—you and your sister

. sharing a home?"

i George's expression did not change, but he turned his

; head slightly away from her. "I don't look ahead very »-far.
Anita's young and she needs a man more than most ^ girls. Some time
she'll marry again."
 ;• "And what will you do?" she asked, apparently idly. I "Take a
mate yourself?"

I,. "No, I don't think so," he said a little flatly. "I may be £;/forty
by then."

|v And a woman doesn't wait for ever, she finished for l.him, in
her thoughts. What a self-sacrificing type he was, |j.And what a fool;
rather a dear, but still a fool. Anita

t^would never give up a moment's fun for anyone else, yet I

for her sake George was relinquishing every chance of a full

life.

"You're nice, George," she said comfortably. "I'd rather be alone

with you than with either of the others."

"Really?" He looked down at her upturned face in surprise.

"That's wrong, you know. You should feel hap-piest with Roland.
Maybe Anita's way of living dan-gerously among young people
wasn't the wisest course, but surely there's something between her
way, and yours?"

"Maybe. I've never been discontented."

 "It's a great thing. Anita was an unhappy, calculating child, wise
beyond her years. It wasn't till she'd graduated from the finishing
school that she came into her own.

Since then," he sighed, "I haven't known her so well. I'm just
dogged old George, someone to turn to when she's sad."

"But you're not her parent, George. And anyway, once a girl has
married and had a home of her own she's independent to some extent.
It may be natural for her to want you now, for a while, but in the
nature of things

it can't go on. You two are so different, you want such different
things from life."

"It'll even out, I dare say. I certainly shan't have any inclination
to think about my own life till she peps up." He pulled a blade of
tough grass and stripped it slowly. "I'm hoping this place will help her
to sleep better and get an appetite. It's a great thing that she's taken to
Steve. A woman must find him a bracing personality, especially when
he's interested in her."

. Too bracing, Tess thought; the sort of man it was better to deal
with as seldom as possible. Anita was wel-come to her ramble
"through the forest with him;' if he tried that dangerous, masterful
stuff she would know what to do. Steve in that mood made Tess feel
weak and somehow fed-up.

"We didn't get the rain," she said, "but it can't be

long now. You'll love the Indian summer here. Gorgeously

hot during the day and cold enough for a fire at night.

When we first came to Kenegan my mother planted some

maples among the pines on our land, so that we'd have

the reds of autumn as well as the dark green. If there's

70

not much wind the autumn colors last several weeks. It's
magnifiicent."

"You obviously love the country, Tess. You'll have to stay."

"I'm not trained to do anything." "You're trained for marriage."
"But I shan't marry for years." ;_
 "You're a bit young for it, but you'd be a success; Tm sure of
that." He stopped, and then added abruptly, "When you've found the
guy marry him at once. If he's the tortoise type, like me, hustle him
up. He'll love you the more for it. Once you're married you deal with
things together—no one can take away from you the right to share
things."

For a moment after he had finished speaking Tess was tempted

to draw him out. George was a fine type, and so, by all accounts, was
the woman he loved. It was iniquitous that the two should be kept
apart by something which probably amounted to no more than a
selfish whim of Anita's. Tess would have liked to meet Frances
Brodie; not that she herself would have been able to help in any

way—everyone seemed to consider her too young to have

important opinions—but she felt the woman would have been worth
knowing. However, George never spoke her name, and if keeping his
own counsel sustained him she. Tess, would be the last to persuade
him to break the silence.

"Tell me about the mine," she said. "Have you cleared the old
working?"
 He explained, smilingly, kept up on his elbow and looked down
at the perfect summer tan of her face, a honeyed, luminous hue that
seemed to be the glow of gold from. beneath the skin. Large blue
eyes, set wide apart,

a short nose that narrowly missed a snub tip, a pretty , mouth.

Quite suddenly the others appeared, Steve with'an arm through

Anita's and apparently helping her over the rough ground. Anita had
the ghost of a flush, her eyes were a

^ brilliant dark amber in the odd light, and her hair stood ;'
out and fell to her shoulders in a series of dark ripples.

; Her face had a babyish blandness, unchanged by the year of

marriage and grief, and Tess remembered irrelevantly

I ^

that Anita had eaten almost nothing today or yesterday, that the
lunch of ham and eggs on that first day had been her only solid fare
since she had come to Garth House. What a queer girl she was.
 Now Anita Jaughed mischievously. "Don't straighten up so
quickly, George dear! We saw you—didn't we, Steve? Looking into
her eyes as if you were both twenty!"

Tess sat up and said dryly, "We were talking about the mine.
Enjoy the timber?"

"I loved it, but I'm tired now. Thank you, Steve," as he dropped
his jacket where she could rest on it. "I do wish I didn't tire so easily."

"You stay here," Steve said. "I'll get some tea and bring it down.
Coming, Tess?"

"Oh, is it my turn for the privilege?" Tess let him pull her to her
feet. "Stay with Anita, George. I shan't be long." '

It wasn't far to the house but a bit of a climb. Tess took care not
to walk too close to Steve because, for some reason, she didn't want
his automatic assistance. They were inside the kitchen when he asked:

"Why the crack about it being your turn for the privilege? By the
look of things, George didn't neglect you."
 "Dam my sense of humor," she commented, as she found a
couple of trays and plastic cloths to fit them. "I had a very restful time
with George."
"I wonder if he found it restful?" He dropped some more wood
on to the flames and set a kettle over them. "What were you aiming
at—taking his mind from distant troubles?"

"I don't have to have a motive for being friendly to someone as

nice as George. You can leave things to me now, if you like."

"I don't like." He stood back from the fire and rested on the arm
of a Windsor chair. "What's happening to you lately?"

"To me? I'm still Tess, the girl at Garth House. I don't change."

"The deuce you don't," he said tersely. "A week ago you were
just a happy, simple girl, and today you're as edgy

72

as a bird. Tell me something; why did you refuse to go out with

Roland tonight? Clothes again?"
 "No, it was much less complicated than that. I didn't want to
go."

"What's at the back of your determination to keep away from

places like the country club? I didn't realize it might be significant till
Anita reminded me that you've no friends in Pelton."

"I hope you realized at the same time that it's not your business."

"Cut that out," he said sharply. "I'm not going to fight with you;
I'm genuinely disturbed about you."

"Dear, dear," she said. "You mustn't start getting sen-sitive.

Steve; that would be quite out of character. Just remind yourself that I
existed at Kenegan for four years before you turned up, and I'll
probably go on living after we've parted company. It's as simple as
that." She placed the teapot on the stove to warm. "If it would please
you, I'll go to a movie with Roland one night next week. He's asked
me several times."

"That wouldn't solve anything. I'm not sure that you'd be able to
handle Kain. It's your pigheaded refusal to go in for social life than I
can't understand. I know that partly it's the lack of cash, but there's
something else."
 "Something very elementary," she said. "When I first came to
Kenegan T was only sixteen and very shy of the sophisticated high-'=
•'-• iol element in Pelton, I spent all my spare time helping my father
to improve this place, and after he'd gone, I had to put in a good many
hours each day on running it with my mother- Once or twice I've been
asked to join a sports group or a cultural society, and there was a
young man who used to sit and gaze wistfully at me till the night
when he collected enough courage to ask me to a party. But by then,
though I was no longer so painfully shy, I was so placed that I
couldn't

-leave my mother."

"And what does that make you now?" he demanded. "You look
fifteen and talk about twenty-five!"
Her jaw stiffened and she kept her glance on the scones she was
buttering. "You can't ieave things alon, can you? Occasionally I'm
awfully sorry I listened to you that first day you came to Kenegan,
and I find myself wishing you'd

73
 found the place empty and shuttered. Then you could have made
your offer through the proper channels and we needn't have known
each other."

His manner changed, became quiet and mocking. "Are you

admitting that I disturb you, little one? How does it feel—being
unsettled by a man for the first time?" A pause. "It is the first time,
isn't it?"

She made a valiant effort to match his mood. "You may think
so, if it boosts your ego. Actually, I feel kinder

towards the soothing type."

"Such as George? I've noticed you have a special smile

and tone for him."

"He's rather a special person. Also, I know he'll never

misconstrue."

"And I might? Try me."

"I don't chase trouble."

 'What could I do if you were sweet to me? It would

disarm me entirely."

"I doubt if. The kettle's ready. Mind if I come there?"

"Not a bit."
But he hunched back only a few inches, so that Tess had to
squeeze against his side as she filled the teapot. She felt his hand
finperir.s the leather be!t at her waist, steeled herself to ignore it. She
turned to reach over and place the teapot on the table and fe'lt him
closer, his smile nar-row and derisive. He took the pot from her hand
and

put it down, slipped a hand round her waist. Deliberately, he

raised her chin and kissed her hard upon the lips. Completely
unnerved, Tess dropped her face against his shirt and pressed it there.
His tones taunting her gently, he said above her head, "You've
been expecting that each time we've been alone, haven't you? Well,
it's happened, and you won't have to palpitate any longer. If it's any
help towards your educa-tion you don't only look too young—you
kiss too young

as well."
 Tess somehow got away from him, drew a breath that felt as if it
had sharp corners, and opened the fridge. She heard him walk across
the room, coine back and place the scone and cake dishes on the
larger tray with the china. As he placed the mil^ jug and teapot on the
small tray her hands shook. But a fleeting glance upward showed

74

that Steve hadn't noticed; as he picked up the heavier burden his

expression was cool and distant, and he wasn't looking her way at all.

Unsteadily she followed him outside, the smaller tray trembling

in her grasp. She felt empty and miserable, wished to heaven she'd
sent George to get the tea. The kiss had meant nothing to Steve, but
for Tess it was like a ... like a sudden raw wound. Because
instinctively she knew why he had manoeuvred that she come close
enough to be held and kissed. He had spent the afternoon with Anita,
had taken her arm and perhaps lifted her over a stream or a fallen tree.
She had roused in him an urge that, with a young widow of only a few
months, he dared not satisfy. So he had taken it out on Tess, and
because her inexperience had disappointed him he had spoken those
final, shattering words. He was a brute.
 . George came to meet them, took the tray from her and lifted an
eyebrow. "You've upset both jug and pot, Tess. That's not like you."

As they set out the things on (he grass, Tess momen-tarily met
Steve's cold, sarcastic glance. Then she set her teeth and poured tea.
That first night he had said he would never want love and kisses from
her; well, it was even truer now, but she didn't care. He could take a
running jump in the lake.

About half an hour later, when the sun had gone behind the
lavender hills and clouds brought a coolness to the lakeside, they
repacked the trays. Anita drew her gay wool jacket closer about her.
She looked small and pensive.

"I'd love to be going somewhere where there are plenty of lights

tonight," she said. "The lake depresses me in the evenings."

"We'll certainly go somewhere," said George. "A cinema?"

"Dinner at the country club," Steve put in. "We'll take both the
girls."

"A good idea. We'll also find out what kind of woman Kain has
picked up in Pelton. Maybe, he'll dance with you
> after all this evening, Tess."
 "Tess won't want to go with us," said Anita. "She'd rather go to
bed early with a book, wouldn't you, Tess?"

; 75

Perversely, Tess answered, "Seeing that people think I've a thing

about social gatherings, I'll try the country

club just once."

"But you don't dance!"

"I can square-dance—people who've stayed here have taught me

some of them—and they do a lot of square-dancing at the club on
Saturday nights. I've heard about

it."
"Good for you," drawled Steve. "Something has put your back
up, young Tess. Attagirl!"

She would cheerfully have shot the tea-leaves over him, bu.f
instead she put the teapot on the tray George carried and left Steve to
bring the rest of the things. .
 Inside the house they split up. Tess remained below while Anita
scented up the bathroom and the men dressed in their own rooms. It
never took Tess long to get ready, and tonight, especially, she did not
want to waste time yearning over her two or three frocks. She would
wear the last new one, a fullskirted green print which had a bow at the
throat. And seeing that rain was imminent it wouldn't matter that she
didn't possess a stole or an evening jacket. She would need a
waterproof.

After she had put away the tea-things she thought how good it
was not to have to rush about preparing the dinner; it excited her a
Viltte to think that she was gomg out to the club in a foursome.
Dancing? Well, it wasn't so

difficult; she had been a good dancer at school and square-

dancing was fun. There had been that one Christmas when they had
opened for a group of nine and eventually gather-ed fourteen guests.
You couldn't make much money on Christmas fare, but it had been
the merriest Christmas holiday Tess had ever known, even though she
had worked hard each day. That was when she had first tried square-
dancing; they'd managed two squares of eight.

She shook up the cushions in the lounge, found herself standing

still in the centre of the room with her fingers on the lips that Steve
had touched with his own. A pain dragged at her heart and she felt a
little sick. This was no good. One of the first tenets of sophistication
was the light acceptance of a kiss; when she had learned that she
might qualify for the next step. Tonight was a testing time. She had
better go up and prepare herself for it.

76

She was in the hall when a car drew up outside, and she turned
at once towards the front entrance. For a moment she stared at the
familiar, modern but much worn station wagon; and then it flashed
across her mind that during

the past week she'd thought no more than a couple of times

about . . . Dick Nieland!

He came up the steps two at a time, stopped just inside (he main
lounge and gave her a pale, obstinate smile.

Dick was not much above ^average height, but he had a young
man's strong-frame,'a rather belligerent jaw and

brown eyes which could look threatening as well as soft and

appealing. His hair, tow-colored and crew-cut, made him look more
youthful than his twenty-six years, but
 ; this was partly offset by his seriousness. Dick wasn't a gay
type; he was too dependent on the approval of others for that.

"Why, hallo!" she exclaimed. "I got to thinking you were never
coming back."
"Sure you didn't get to hoping it?" he asked, not very pleasantly.
"I expected to find you at our place, when I returned this afternoon,
instead of which the house was deserted and locked up."

"Well, Mrs. Lesley has . . ."

"I know. The foreman told me. But she'd have remained
, at Blue Valley if you'd been there with her. Tess . . .
; what's this all about—you're staying on here and taking
guests? Why didn't you stick to our arrangement?"
j; "I did come over to your house for some advice, but you
t, and your father had already left for Calgary."
I "I drove here to let you know on the day we left, but

| you were out, and we had to get going that same afternoon.

II thought I'd be gone only a day or (wo, but . . . things

^happened. I couldn't get back by plane." There was a gbreak in his
voice which sounded like strain. "I've had one pell of a time. My
father's ill. He's still in Calgary."
 p "Dick! What happened?"
g; _ He came a little further into the light and she could see
^tiredness in his face, a sensitive twitch at his lips. "I don't
jg|now if I ever told you that my father financed a business

one of my cousins down there. It folded ,up, and my decided to

go and see what was behind it; he'd
been associated with failure before. We decided to

use his car and I was to return by plane and train; Dad thought
he'd bring one of his realtives back, to share the driving and give them
a holiday. When he got there things were as bad as they could be—in
the business, that is. I've never seen my father so steamed up, and
suddenly, that night, he collapsed with a heart attack."

"But ... but how appalling! What did you do?"

"He had to rest for a few days and then have the usual tests. The
result was that he had to be. taken to a clinic where he must rest for a
month, almost without moving. After that it may be two or three more
months before he's right—if he ever is."

"Dick, you poor thing." She slipped a hand through his arm and
drew him to the couch. "I'd no idea you were going through this. How
does your father feel, in himself?"
 "He's resigned—has to be. Fortunately he has a sister in Calgary
who will visit him regularly. But you caa see where it puts me." He
sat forward with his arms along his knees. "The only bright spot in
coming back was that you'd be at. Blue Valley to talk things over
with. And then when I got there . . ."

She touched the hand nearest her, looked into his face. "I know,
and I'm terribly sorry. If I'd had an inkling of what you might be
suffering I'd have been over there

to meet you."

He lifted his head wearily. "Let's go now. I don't want to meet

these people you have here."

"No, of course not. They're going out to dinner ,so there's

nothing to keep me." She hesitated, and even in that moment when
Dick was Uppermost in her mind, she knew a stab of regret for the
green print frock and the dancing, for the lost evening with,. . . with
Steve. "I'll have to slip upstairs for a minute. Go out and wait for me
in your

car and I'll come to you."

 Tess didn't wait to see him move. She slipped out of the room
and up the staircase, stood still and gained her breath while she made
sure where the men were. George was in his room, she thought, and
mingling with the faint roar of the shower in one of the Bathrooms
there was a vague whistling sound which probably came from Steve.
Perhaps it was as well that she wouldn't be able to speak to him.

78

She knocked lightly on Anita's door and was bidden to enter.

Anita was sliding a slim-fitting white frock over her head, and on the
bed lay the black and white jacket that went with it. Mechanically,
Tess pulled the skirt' straight and came at once to the point.

"A friend of mine is in trouble, Anita, and I have to go home

with him. It means I won't be able to go to the club with you tonight.
Will you apologize for me to your brother and Steve?"

"Why, sure," said the little-girl voice abstractedly. "There's

bound to be someone to spare for George. Play hard to get and the old
dear will be eating out of your hand."

"I'd hardly want George in that position, but to tell him I'm sorry
to let him down."
 "Don't think a thing about it." A slight interest dawned in her.
"You say this friend who needs you is a man?"

"A neighbor—Dick Nieland."

"What is he like?"

Tess couldn't suppress the irony in her voice when she replied,
"Too young for you, in your present mood. Have a "good time."

She went into her own room and hastily changed her grubby
white shirt for the turquoise one and her jeans for a black skirt. Then
she ran downstairs and out to the Nielands' all-purpose wagon. She
was no sooner seated than Dick set the vehicle moving.

The rain had begun, mistily, and daylight was almost gone.
From the hill a few of the lights of Pelton were normally visible in the
far distance, but tonight there was nothing but a darkening grey haze.
It wasn't cold, but the world looked sad.

"Is there much food in the house?" she asked brightly. "Some
stuff in the fridge," he said, "and the foreman

sent over bread and some fruit from the bunkhouse."

 "Have you eaten?"

"Nothing since a hamburger at a pull-up around ten this

morning, but I'm not hungry. I feel full up to here with trouble."

"But you mustn't feel like that," she said gently. "Your father is
in good hands; while he rests he can't come to any harm at all. I know
the ranch is going to be a big

79

responsibility, but you've an excellent foreman, and Mrs.

Lesley will race home as soon as she knows you're here.

Did you send her a wire?"

He nodded. "She'll probably arrive late tomorrow after-noon.

But . . . you don't know how much I wish you'd been there when I got
in. I've-never felt so terrible in

my life."
 "But, Dick, you've never relied on me like that before. How was
I to know you'd be in a state?"

"I wouldn't have been, if you'd been there."

This was illogical, and Tess could find no comforting answer to

it. She and Dick were close friends, nothing

more.
"We won't talk much till you've had something to eat and
relaxed a bit. You're probably overtired."

He had left a light on in the hall of the large comfort-able house

that always gleamed with polish, and as they closed out the night Tess
thought how cosy the place was, compared with Garth House. But it
was a family home,

not a sprawling, inconvenient guest house.

They went to the kitchen, and he put a match to the stove fire
which Mrs. Lesley had left ready. But at Blue Valley one did not have
to rely solely upon the wood stove; there was a generator large
enough to run a fridge and several cooking appliances as well as the
lights. Tess found eggs and cooking oil, a small jar of mushrooms for
omelette filling, a can of chicken soup. She cut bread'for toast,
switched on the frying-pan and coated the inside

of it with oil. So much for the evening away from her own
kitchen, she thought wryly; this old-fashioned and yet

model kitchen was a change, anyway.

They ate at the kitchen table, took their coffee into the fair-
sized, chintzy sitting-room which in daylight always seemed to be
part of the vast outdoors. From its windows Tess had often watched
the dark blobs of distant cattle, the pale grass blowing, the cantering
cowboys as -they returned from driving sections of the cattle to water.
Here' at Blue Valley one always got an impression of space and
distance, of merciless sun in high summer and bitter winds in winter.
It was the sort of ranch that an owner could

feel seeping into his bones while the outsider was conscious
only of blinding, illimitable distance.

!; Dick began talking, chiefly about his fa(her"s collapse

and the week of worry that followed it. He had stayed in

Calgary for two days after Mr. Nieland's admission to the clinic, and
been allowed to see his father for two hours each afternoon.
 "He's passed the reins to me," he said, "but I don't feel

ready for them. For the first time he ... he talked about his will.
It's a rather peculiar one—he made it when I
j was twenty-one and-feels it shouldn't be altered." Looking |
down at his coffee cup, he shook his head. "I couldn't
| talk to him about such things, but he wanted me to know,
| so that . ^ . so that I can plan. If ... anything happens J to him
I'm to share this place with my eldest cousin,

| unless I'm married before then. My cousin knows nothing j

about it, of course, and if I were married he never would i know. He's
middle-aged, a good rancher and childless.
I He ... he and his wife would move in here." Dick's young

I face lifted, and Tess saw that he was rather white about J the
mouth. "I'm just not cut out to face this kind of
^ thing."
I. "You needn't face it yet. You don't have to swallow
t: it whole, Dick, and if your father's" careful you may soon j
be back where you were before you left for Calgary."

I "It's doubtful whether he'll ever be really active again, |

though. Whether I want to or not, I just have to think
| of the future."
 | "But you'll never be alone in it. If your cousin . . ."
| "No, I won't have that! I want all of Blue Valley or

I none of it. I won't live here with a man who was chosen I
simply because he's a cattleman. I can hire one, if neces-j.sary. The
foreman here is pretty good, if it comes to that.
| The will is a reflection on me; don't you see that?"
I' "It isn't, Dick. Your father thinks too much of you to

| try to shame you. You're young, and he has a tremendous j-

feeling for Blue Valley; he wants to do his best—both for
pou and for the ranch. In any case, your father is a
| strong man and he'll be sensible about this illness. He's not
j,going to die."
I Dick shoved his cup on to a low table, pushed back in

Jhis chair. "No, I don't think he is," he said, exhaustion |in his
tones, "but he's opened my eyes. I always thought
|he was satisfied with the work I did here, that he knew
I- 81

that even though .1 don't seem to have ranching in my bones I

do have enough sense to employ the right people and get the best out
of the place. This will proves that he doesn't have any faith in me at
all. He wants me to live and marry here because I'm a Nieland, but he
also wants to take care that if I don't marry another Nieland will be in
charge. The ranch means as much to him as I do—perhaps more."

Tess came and sat down close to him, smiled as she said, "You
aren't thinking straight, Dick. Be honest with yourself. Supposing you
were suddenly left as sole owner of the ranch. What would you do?"

"I'd let it go on as it is now."

"But you'd have no one to restrain you. You've always longed to

browse about Europe, to live for a year or two in some of the big
cities. With enough money and freedom you'd do those things—and
Blue Valley would be left to fend for itself. Your father knows that,
and I doubt if

he'd deny you those pleasures. But he does want to make

absolutely sure that Blue Valley will never be left without a Nieland
in charge—for a generation, anyway. After that, the duty lies with
you."

He took a cigarette from a packet, stabbed a match into flame

and blew smoke. "Blue Valley is mine," he said stubbornly. "I'll never
share it with my know-all cousin. As a matter of fact," jaw jutting a
little, "I've already come to an conclusion of sorts."
 "You said you couldn't face the situation."

"That's how it felt, but on the way from Calgary my mind

churned all the time, and a decision was thrown up. I ... I've only seen
it during the last hour or so. Tess," gazing at the tip of his cigarette he
moistened his lips, "I want you to marry me."

Tess felt her blood cooling, a distaste within her. "That might be
a way out of it," she said evenly, "but it's not too well conceived, is it?
How did you think I'd react?"

Still looking downwards, he said, "We're fond of each other,

aren't we? Before I went to Calgary I was feeling great just because
you were coming here to live with

us for a while. While I was there I kept thinking of you, and I've
told you about the ghastly sense of let-down when I got back this
afternoon to an empty house. I've

82

liked any other girl; I used to keep away from JSfhem. But
you're different. You're sweet and you under-stand me. In a way
you're much stronger than I am, and |even though you're not a
ranching type you'd have enough

j strength and loyalty to the family—if you entered it— Jto help
me to keep things going. I know it must look as

j though I'm only asking you to marry me because then j-Blue

Valley would be safely mine, but it's not true. Know-|tng about . . .
that will has only made me hasten things

ga bit. I'd probably have waited some time—till Garth

gHouse was sold and you began to talk of joining your I.

mother."

| "Well, it's a pity you didn't waif," she said off-handedly.

|"A proposal just now is in bad taste, to say the least, and j it
would be best for both of us if you forgot it."

? He looked up then. "I didn't want to hurt your feeeliogs,

ITess. Heaven knows, I'd be the last person to hurt you

at ail. I was anxious to get you to see it my way."

 She leaned back. "I'm afraid your way appears to me to be a
selfish one. Did your father say why he wants your cousin to move in
only if you should be unmarried?"

He nodded. "He said the situation—having on older Nieland and

his wife in the house—wouldn't be fair to
:... to my wife. He seemed to assume that if I were mar-

: ried when he died, he'd already have had my wife living here
and would know her v/ell." He stood up suddenly. "I can accept that
when I was younger he'd make the stipulation about my cousin
sharing Blue Valley for a certain number of years. But I'm twenty-six
now, and he

; hasn't altered the will!"

"Surely you didn't ask him to alter it?"

-_ "How could I, at such a time?" He jabbed his cigarette into an

ashtray. "It's not so good to find you're distrusted by someone you
care about."

"No, I realize that," she said quietly. "You'll have to try seeing it
from your father's angle. If I were you, I'd do my utmost not to think
about it at all for a couple of days. You need sleep,"
 He dropped down in front of her, looking haggard

.and very young. He gripped her wrists and his head went down
into her lap. For a suffocating second Tess was on the point of
springing up and rushing away. Then she

83

felt the torment in him, the hurt of discovering his father did not
trust him, his need to cling to something unshake-able, at least for a
time. He had been right when he said he wasn't constructed to face
such a situation.
Dick had always been serious, a little intense; his trou-ble had
been that his looks belied his character. Physically he was an ordinary
young Canadian of Scottish blood, but mentally he was far from wide
spaces and grand mount-ains. He read a good deal, collected old
manuscripts and maps, knew all about the old capitals of Europe and
longed to visit them. Sometimes he thought he would like to write,
and at others he saw himself loose in Spain

and Italy with a sketch-book. Tess remembered something her

father had once said about Dick Nieland. "He's
 the sort who'll always think the next pasture is better than this
one. A pleasant lad, but he's irresolute and out of touch." It was true
of him, yet for that very reason
she felt compassion for him.

She took one of her hands from his grasp, touched his crisp,
colorless hair. "Let's be sane, Dick. Give the whole thing time to
settle. You haven't asked me about my
guests at Garth House."

Heavily, he- got up and lowered himself into a chair. "I'm not
very interested in them," he said, "but I'd have told you, sooner or
later, that my father has put the

sale of the place into my hands. I'm going to advertise it for you,
in several big towns."

"I don't think that will be necessary," she said, relieved that he
had accepted the change of topic. "I've had an offer, a very good one.
That's the reason I took on the three men who are staying there."
"Just three men?" he asked, frowning.

"And (he sister of one of them. Did you know there's a new
silver mining project at North Tucket?"
 "I'd heard about it. A big company sent a team to test old
prospectors' workings and 'North Tucket gave good
results. Is that where your guests are geting dug in?" She
nodded. "Garth House is much nearer to the site

than Pelton—it's only four or five miles away. It seems that a

railway line is already under construction and

our road will be widened and tarred, carried close to North

Tucket and extended to take in a couple of north-

em towns. When that happens, Garth House will be worth at

least twice what we paid for it."

"When," he echoed skeptically. "It may be years." "Why should

it? Isn't it usual to build good roads for
transport before anything goes into operation on a big scale?
According to Mr. Fenner,, it won't be more than a few months before
they start on the road."

, "Who is Mr. Fenner?"

"The engineer in charge of setting up the gear and getting the

mine working. It was he who offered to buy Garth House."
 "Was it now?" Dick looked at her, unsmilingly. "Was he trying
to make a fast buck?"

"No," she said in level tones. "It's an offer which I'm at liberty to
refuse, and he frankly told me all the details himself. In fact, he
advised me to hang on to the place and cash in, but I had to admit that
Mother needs money. So he said he'd pay what we're asking—but for
only a half-share in the property—just as a speculation. It seems to me
that if we can send Mother the money she's hoping for, and still retain
an interest in Garth House, we're not on to a bad thing. I'm sure your
father would have

• agreed to it."

"My father's not in this now. I actually have a letter from him to
his lawyer in Pelton, stating that the sale of Garth House has to be at
my discretion, though he'll sign for your mother when the time
comes." Bitterly, he tacked on, "He'd probably have put my cousin in
charge of that, too, if he hadn't had confidence in you."

Tess shrugged. "There's no tearing hurry for a decision. I

suggest you come over on Monday evening and the three

• of us will discuss it. Give me a cigarette, will you?"

"You've started to smoke?" he demanded, aghast.
 : "Yes," she said with a grin. "I don't like it, but I'm

: darned if I'll let a screw of tobacco in thin paper floor

: me. I've decided to become sufficiently expert to accept

{ a. cigarette when I'm offered one. Offer me one, Dick." I Aftr

that he cheered a little, and Tess fostered the

| mood by switching on the radio and asking him if he'd

jwatched TV in Calgary. Up here io the Kenegan district | one

had to be content with radio.

j~ 85

At about ten-thirty she made some tea, but half an hour later
when she said it was time to leave, Dick

demurred.
"I'm going to feel like (he devil when I'm alone again," he said.
"If the old girl were here it might help a little, but this big house . . .
deserted ... I couldn't stand it.

You're not in such a hurry, are you, Tess?"

 "What time does the country club close on Saturdays?" "Not
before one, but, you don't have to bother about

the people staying at Garth House. They're only boarders."

Not quite, she thought. "If you really feel benighted out

here, why don't you come over to Garth House for the night?"
she suggested. "There are still four empty bed-

rooms."
"No." He looked tightened up. "Just stay with me a

little longer.

"Not still upset, are you?"

"Upset?" He gazed at her myopically. "No, I'm not upset. I just
don't want to be alone to think."

Well, a few times lately Tess herself had felt like that. She
twiddled the radio knobs, and somehow got through another hour.
Finally he went outside with her and they started away in the wagon.
He drove slowly, yet had little to say. Tess took a quick peep at her
w.atch and saw that it was five minutes to one. Heavens, if she should
meet them now . . . with Dick there!

But as they neared Garth House she saw that it was in total
darkness. She put urgent fingers on Dick's arm. "Drop me here, Dick.
I have my keys; I'll go in the back

way."

He stopped and opened her door. As she straightened beside him

he was looking at her dully, hopelessly. His voice had gone thick.
"Circumstances alter things, Tess. I'm seeing you differently—can't
help it."

She kept panic from her tones. "Go back home, take an aspirin
and go to bed. I'll see you on Monday evening —about eight. Good
night, Dick."

He muttered something and slipped back ino the car. Tess flitted
down from the road on to the drive, took the side path to the back
door. She felt in her skirt pocket for her keys, found them and inserted
the correct one into the lock. It turned, but the door would not yield.

,R must be bolted. Hastily, she went round to the. front •and up

into the porch, tried 'the big key in the lock of the main door. That too
he'.d fast. She stood there, bewildered and a bit frightened. They were
back, had locked up with the keys she had passed on to Steve and
pushed home the bolts; they had taken it for granted that she was in
bed. Lord, what did she do now?

CHAPTER FIVE

ACTUALLY, apart from hammering on the door till she got

some response, there was little Tess could do. It was routine to close
all the lower windows soon after dark, and keyed up hough she had
been while awaiting her turn in the bathroom at dusk, she had not
omitted the routine. She couldn't remember the action of pulling in the
bars and securing the handles, but there the win-dows were, flat and
shining starkly in the thin rain.

She tiptoed along the stoep and back again, decided that
whatever happened, she would not face those men tonight. Roland
slept at the back, his room was just above the kitchen, but even if she
succeeded in rousing him he might stumble about in the corridor and
waken the others. Probably they weren't even asleep yet. Per-haps . . .
perhaps Steve was up there in the dark, smoking a cigarette near the
window and .thinking about his precious mine ... or about Anita.

It wasn't till she leaned back against (he wall that Tess realized
she was spent. There had been that scene with Steve in the kitchen,
the hear-twisting pain afterwards, the sudden effort of accepting the
invitation to the club. Then Dick's arrival, .and Anita's indifference
and sly allusions. And the three or four hours over at Blue Valley had
demanded more nervous energy than she had really had to spare. She
badly needed her bed. Yet how to get there?

As she stepped out again into the rain she became aware that her
shoulders were wet, her shoes squelching. It was cooler too, a wee bit
raw. At the corner of the house she lookd up at her balcony. Well,
why not? There was a tow-

' rope in the barn, and she ought to be able to throw the

end of it round one of the rails. They were wooden rails,

but strong; her father had replaced the old ones only a

couple of years ago, and the top bar was no more than

twenty feet from the ground.

Relieved that she could act instead of thinking so much, Tess

edged her way between her own old bus and
 88

(he tan estate car and collected the coil of rope. Under the
balcony, she loosened the coil, found the looped end and took her
stand. She threw, missed, and threw again. I made hardly any sound,
thank heaven, and some time it was bound to loop over the balcony
handrail. She musn't be flurried. Just try again, and again . . .
patiently.

The rope caught, and swung. She paid out and the loop came
down, looking ghoulish in the grey darkness. She was as good as in
her room already! But that thought may have been her undoing. She
grabbed the loop, caught it together with the rope and at once began
to haul herself up. Her hands were cold and damp, the bunch of rope
too clumsy for them. One end of the rope slipped, she snatched at it
and missed, and the next second was sprawling on the muddy grass.

In no time she was up on her feet, had yanked the rope into an
armful and disappeared into the barn. She couldn't see much, but there
was no sound from the house, none at all.

She stood there for fully five minutes, the rope at her feet. Then,
dispiritedly, she kicked it back into the corner and got into the old
Buick. It wasn't very comfortable, but she couldn't risk leaving traces
in the estate car. She leaned back against the car window with her arm
across the wheel. Her neck hurt where she had ricked it in (he fall,
and she was so tired that the wet blouse made her shiver. Well, she
could rest here for a few hours. The others wouldn't get up so early
tomorrow because it was Sunday—it was already Sunday, she
reflected drearily. Anyway, she wasn't likely to sleep heavily.
Whoever ap-peared first in the morning would leave the door wide
and take a walk. With luck, she would be able to slip indoors and up
to her room without being seen. Even

if she did happen to meet someone it wouldn't matter a lot;

they'd only think she'd been outdoors for something.

She didn't sleep at all; there was just a spasmodic night-marish

dozing and a sudden jerking as she came wide awake. Her neck
became stiffer and more painful and her hipbone hurt where she had
bruised it in the fall. Her

bare forearm was caked with mud, her leg as well, she S»ught.
If she hadn't been so tired the situation might have been funny, in
spite of the physical pain.

I 89

Ironically, as dawn broke she had difficulty in keeping her eyes

open. Somehow she stumbled out of (he car and arrived at the open
end of the barn, from which position she could watch the entrance of
the house. It was still raining, but there was a luminescence about the
grey curtain of moisture, as if the sun was doing is utmost

to dispel it. The yard was a spread of puddles, and she

remembered her father saying, "That's our next job, Tess. We'll gravel
it fairly high, so that we can get about easily in wet weather." There
hadn't been time to get round to it, though, and when she and her
mother were alone there was no question of any repairs; it had taken

every cent to keep going.

She stayed under cover, watching, and presently she was

rewarded by the opening of the front door. No one came out, but there
it was, about forty yards away, the wide open doorway. She pushed
her hands lightly over her temples to tidy her hair, rearranged the
collar of her blouse to obliterate the flattened'look, and walked boldly
across the yard and the lawn, up the steps into the house.

No one in sight, thank goodness.

In the kitchen the stove fire already burned and a breakfast cloth
had been arranged on the table with a cruet in the centre. Nothing
else. Tess washed her forearm in the scullery and beat some of the
mud from her skirt. She set out cups and saucers, plates and cutlery,
put a

kettle over the heat and the teapot to warm.

Then, unable to hurry, she went upstairs. Roland was singing

some tune he'd probably heard last night—a catchy thing; again there
was the sound of the shower. Tess slipped into her room and closed
the door, put a hand to the excruciating pain in her neck muscles, but
at the same time divested herself of skirt and blouse. She washed in
the bathroom, got into slacks and a clean shirt, awkwardly

combed up her hair. She was safe.

A couple of minutes later she was back in the kitchen, getting

out the bowl of waffle mixture and packets of cereal, laying slices of
ham in the pan and cutting bread. Steve came in the back way,
raindrops on his hair and the shoulders of his jacket. He must have
opened up the front of the house before going out the back way.

"Hi," he said, noncommittally.

90
 "Hi," she answered, as succinctly.
He opened a thick week-end newspaper, leaned back against the
wall near the table, reading. As she placed sugar and grapefruit on the
table she could smell his after-shaving lotion. This morning he had a
clean-cut, economical look; Tess felt as if she herself looked slightly
lopsided and completely neutral.
Nothing was said till George appeared, well shaved, well
brushed and half smiling.
"Good morning, Tess," he greeted her. "Shall I be in
the way if I stay here?"
"The waffles are ready—you can get started." Steve folded the
paper and dropped it on to a chair,

pulled out her chair at the table. She shook her head, steeled
herself against wincing from the pain in the curve
of her neck.
"I'll just have some grapefruit, in a minute. Please go
ahead."
He did not insist, but took his own place at the table and helped
himself to waffles and maple syrup. Tess turned the kidneys and
bacon, broke eggs into the pan with them and separated two of the
plates which were warming. She made coffee for the men and tea for
herself. Roland arrived, winked at her and sat down. She lifted bacon
and kidneys from the pan to make room for more. No one expected
Anita to come down; it was doubtful whether she ever would appear
below stairs before ten o'clock. Then she would don an apron and
walk about with a flower or two in her hand, looking busy. Tess didn't
really care; it just happened that everything this morning made her
sick.

Roland, who never ate cereal or waffles, was ready to eat the
main course with the others. Steve poured the coffe, Tess the tea, and
she started on her grapefruit. Roland was eating slowly this morning.

"Too much hooch last night," he explained. "I got myself invited
to a card party."
"The girl stand you up?" asked George.

"I was too late—one of these timber types got in first— and I
never quarrel with lumberjacks! So her brothers

felt sorry for me and took me along to this card-playing jag. Oh,
boy, was I fleeced!"

91

"Cockeyed, too?"
 "Not quite. I had enough about me to get out and come home at
about eleven-thirty. None of you were in then and the doors were
locked, but the kitchen vent window was open and I reached in and
opened the lower one."

"We got back at midnight," George said. "Lucky you weren't

later. Steve and I fastened all the windows and
bolted the doors."

"I didn't even hear you," Roland said. "Too shot, I guess." He
pushed his plate aside, pulled his coffee cup nearer. "What kept you
out till midnight?"
It was George again who replied. "We went over to the country
club. It's a pleasant place and they seem very decent people."

Roland cast an injured glance at Tess. That wasn't nice. I invited

you first."
"I didn't go," she said.

Steve spoke for the first time, very coolly. "Her young man
came home, so she ran out on us. Enjoy yourself, little one?"
"Yes, thanks."

"Get home early?"

 "Not very."

"Rather than let us down you could have asked Dickie-boy to go

with us. Or couldn't you?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, she said, "Dick didn't feel like fun. His
father has been taken seriously ill, and he's sud-denly loaded with the
responsibility for the ranch. I'm
sorry I couldn't go with you last night, bu- Dick's an old

friend, and he needed me." "Forget it," he said briefly.

She broke off a piece of toast and chewed it. Her eyes felt like
lead discs and she ached with holding a position which kept the more
acute pain at bay. It hadn't been

just a rick of the neck, but quie a bad wrench. Fortunately, she
was tough enough to survive the wet blouse and shoes without harm,
but she did feel most peculiar.

George helped to clear the table and he dried the dishes. Tess
went upstairs and tidied the bedrooms. In her own room she decided
to take an aspirin, and wanly she recal-led advising Dick last night to
do the same. She had swallowed the tablet and was calculating
whether she
92

I I SloT81' an howls rest when ^ -me. tap at

jj "Are you in there, Tess?"

| I thing?"|^^sy^sed'Do•^y0"want^some•6edoO-
|.. '^^STZ' 'y^'iw- °odde•'
g te«0 6-»,nL^^,•ngH^.''^rl•'"•^e to

j ;i5js,%aiS—
I fc'° ^SS-es?^
,'"?"• '•"'" <i"1 ?»" '"" «» teD mer
(-.d ^s'y^s^Trcs- •w•a Is^^^^^^s^r^-a
J^S-Sff,^-^;^-^
B Hes twenty-five or six isn't h^o T

1 too Uttle humanity. ButIgo; ^S"^ money and

I "^e mighty '""e11' steve•" '

( into^sTackeTs^DidTo1? d7ness.He shoved his h^

 } of Garth Se?" y " g TOUnd to discussiDg the s^ lus'b^"^ He)'
coau^ here t0^^ night, to see

1 did 15 finy gave it to me last G11"8^. Where

^SA^muSy^VS^ ^e

looked a bit odd out there, as'a maU'St^ as^omi8

93

one's shoe had. dug into the grass and slid about a couple of feet.
Could have been your shoe."

"Yes. Yes, it was." She hadn't even remembered the pencil was
in her skirt pocket. "You can't hurry on wet grass."

His hands were back in his pockets and he stood with his feet
slightly apart and his shoulders squared, -as if examining and judging
her. Then suddenly; "You can't turn your head, can you?"
 She forced a smile. "Not easily. I must have jerked the neck
muscle slightly when I fell."

"Is that all?"

"Pretty well. I may have a bruise or two. Is that why 'you came
up—to return my pencil?"
"No, I scented a mystery. It wasn't I who gummed up the
evening out at the club, so why should you go aloof on me? Still fed
up about that kiss?"

"I haven't thought about it."

"You have, young Tess, but you needn't any more. If I ever kiss
you again it'll be because you've asked me to."

"Then it won't happen," she said. Perhaps because she was too
tired to choose her words, she asked, "Does Anita like your
experimental ways? Or are you keeping decently distant till you
receive an invitation?"

The grey eyes glinted dangerously, but all he said .was, "Sit
down. I'll be right back."
 Tess teetered, and sat down on the side of the bed. He came
back unscrewing the cap of a large yellow tube, sat

beside her.

"Undo a couple of buttons of your shirt and push the collar

backwards," he ordered. "Go on. I'm just a guy with a bit of know-
how about strains and sprains. In less than five minutes I'll have that
neck feeling much easier. Good girl—turn a bit so that I'm behind
you."
Her teeth were tight, but otherwise she felt a little numb as his
left hand cradled one side of her neck while the fingers of his right
hand gently massaged cream into the other side. He did it thoroughly
and without hurting the skin, rubbed from the hair line down to her
shoulder-blade, methodically and evenly.

"I'll take that last remark of yours as an outlet for the pain of a
stiff neck," he commented as he massaged. "For

94

la woodsy type you certainly pack a smart punch. I'll | bet you
never use them against Dickie-boy."
I "Maybe I don't have to."
 | "What's so different about me?"

| ^Everything. As if you didn't know."

j ^You think I've no feelings at all, don't you?" ; "I think

you have instincts, not feelings."

"What sort of instincts?"

"The usual masculine ones. They're under conrol, though. Very

much so."

"I shouldn't bank on that. About fifteen minutes ago they almost
controlled me. I was so mad that I was ready to smash this door in if
I'd found it locked."

She was still and silent;, noticed that his fingers had almost
ceased to move. At last she asked quietly "Mad with me? What have I
done?"

"That's what I intend to find out." He thrust the shirt collar up on

to her neck, stood up and reseated the tube of cream. "I found that gilt
pencil outside, investigated and came across a piece of galvanized
wire that looked familiar; I'd last used it myself to secure, the coil of
tow-rope when I tidied up the shed. The rope, I discovered
 was a muddy mess on the floor." ' "I ... used it for something."

"So you did—in the dark and in the raia." In clipped accents he
demanded, "What did you use it for?"

"Does it matter? I'll coil it again myself "

His teeth snapped "You'd better hear the rest. As my S? ^ ^as

that ^^^y had been fooling out

there, I looked at the cars to see if they'd been tampered with.

The steering wheel and the front seat of yours was streaked with dried
mud and your keys were on the floor " beI^ExSS^0111 his pocket
afld flung them on the

^,7 must have ^PP^ ^m. It could happen, couldn't

"It could and did. You spent the night- in the car!"

Tess stood up. She was pale, and the life seemed very close to
the clear and sensitive satin of her skin. A p2
Ser 1^- ^oat and the blue vein at her te"Ple 2 t'T glrllshand
v"l°erable. The whites of her eyeS
 were the blue of perfect health, but there was tiredness

95

in the dark droop of her lids as she averted her head from

him.
"That's a very clever deduction," she said.

"It's not clever, it was obvious. There was no one about when I
came down this morning, and then suddenly you were in the kitchen,
looking as if you'd had a thick night. You ate only a spoonful of
grapefruit for breakfast, and then admitted you'd spent the evening
with young Nieland, because he needed you." He paused, then asked
deliberately, "Just how much did he demand of you, little one?"

"Oh, stop it," she said unsteadily. "I kept quiet about it because
1 knew no one would undersand why I should stay over at Blue
Valley, alone with Dick, for so many hours.

I didn't feel like explaining last night, and I don't this morning,
but there was absolutely no harm in it. Dick felt horrible and I stayed
with him as long as I could. I knew the club closed at one and thought
that was when you'd leave. I'm afraid I'd forgotten that Anita tires
quickly."

"Go on," he said grimly, as she stopped.

"When I got here the place was locked and bolted; I couldn't get
in."
"There's the visitors' bell at the front door!"
"I ... couldn't rouse everyone. You're guests here. I 1 thought of
tossing pebbles at someone's window, but even |

if I'd awakened one of you the movements migh have |

disturbed others. I just didn't want any fuss." i "So you

remembered that your balcony window was

open, and got the rope. That was how you fell—from the ropel"
"You know it all now," she said thinly. "Satisfied?" "Satisfied!
This is your home; you've more right to
enter this place at any time you like than any of us! If you
weren't already hurt enough I'd shake the life out of you." He stalked
violently across the room and back again. "What time did you get
here?"

"About one."
 "I wasn't asleep then, You might have guessed that one of us
would still be awake."

"There were no lights—on your side of the corridor or on

Anita's and mine." Her voice cracked. "I simply

96

want a fuss. Can't you accept that?"

if He looked at her as she stood at the foot of the bed

ger head bent, her wide brow pale. She looked young and
jdefenceless, still possessed of the awkward and appealing gCharm of
adolescence. Something went taut in his jaw

pbut he spoke without heat.

jj| "Peel you could sleep now?"

Jfe. "No. To be honest, I feel a bit... touchy "

!„ "^m„aot ^"sed. Look here, we'll go out for a drive.

y youil relax I'll promise not to mention last night

 ||HgaiD.
I- "D'you think.. . ."

t "Come on," he said. "That beaten look doesn't belong go Tess

Harvey. We'll go. somewhere and get rid of it"

p "I really don't think we should."

I His tones were dry and mocking. "Still harking back to

|yesterday, in the kitchen? i kissed you because I waated

glo prove something."

g "And ... did you?"

|. "Yes' P31' I P"^ it>" he said, almost as if he were Kirectmg his

cynicism at himself now. "The experiment's I'over. Let s go."
J. Quickly, because he was watching her, Tess drew a

jcomb through her hair and used a lipstick. She preceded ^him
from the room, went down the stairs and out to the ibara at his side.
The sun was watery but gathering

^trength, he puddles were drying and the lake was a |jewel,

winking and glistening in its vast nest of furzy
 .green. •'
^ As she sat in the estate car and Steve backed it out

^ f^ t ^arlet eonvertible Ending on the sheltered

.side ot the shed, and the sight of it made her look upwards
^ Anita's window. Her heart turned. Anita was
standing ,there in a slinky dark wrap, the smoky hair thick and

.curly about the small pale face. And the look on Sat

•i3ce. , . ,
^"HO^S the ?e<:k?" steve asked' as ^ swu^ away

from the gravel road which led up towards Blue Vallev and the
mountains, and took the track through the pines
which encircled the lake. . p

"It's improved quite a bit," she said. "That's a powerful

cream you keep handy." t""»»^uui

"Don't forget the magic fingers. And then, of course, there's

something responsive about your neck! Would you like the rug?"
 "Of course not."

He grinned at the hint of indignation in her voice. "Don't you

like to be coddled?"

"Well, it's a change, but I don't think I do. It might be pleasant in

some circumstances, but I'm not dressed for it, anyway."
"Still not tired of slacks and shirts?"
"I have to be practical. I suppose when I get back to England I'll
go either countrified or smart." She smiled. "It often seems as if I'll
never go back."

"At your age, never is a long time. Do you ever come along this
road?"

Tess looked through the trees they were passing, glimpsed the
blue and silver of the lake. "It must be more than a year since I last
came this way. These days, wher-ever I go leads somewhere; this road
is here just. for pleasure and I haven't had time for it. I like these
wilder parts of the lake, though, don't you?"

"There are thousands of miles of this sort of country in Canada,"

he said as he nodded. "When I was small I used to spend my holidays
with a French-Canadian couple who looked after a lakeside house my
parents owned in Quebec. I didn't go back there till I was about
twenty, and nothing had changed. The couple had a few extra lines in
their faces, but they still kept the place bright with polish and the
garden full of flowers. We had a motor-baat' and a couple of canoes,
and our own small private dock which was kept in good repair by an
Indian. The Indian went off to his people in the reserve, the boats
were locked up, and I dare say the dock is looking a bit sick by now."

"And the house? When did you last go there?"

"About four years ago. The old couple still live m their

cottage and keep the house shining. Various relatives of mine

have spent holidays there, but I don't have much urge

to go back myself. If it weren't for the fact that my father bought

the place as a wedding present for my mother, I'd sell it."

|| "If you'd married that girl you wanted you could have
passed it on to her."

I- "That's the general idea," he said carelessly. "That I

Ikeep it till I can pass the deeds on to my wife."

| She cast him a brief startled glance. "You said that as

 8f you've begun looking for one. I thought you were |uredl"

| He laughed. "So did I, honey. Maybe all I was cured |of was
wanting that particular girl."

| Disliking the topic suddenly, she said, "You're full of

Surprises. I simply can't imagine you married."

t "Then don't try," he said indifferently. "I can imagine |rou

hitched up quite easily—but not, somehow, to a

ICanadian."
| "To someone like Roland?"

| "Heavens, no. It may not be apparent to your in-|experienced

eye, but Roland is more of a bachelor type

|han either George or I. He likes women in the plural,

Jbut never takes them really seriously." He gave her a jsmiling

sideways glance. "Don't take that as a challenge,

gsvill you? Of all the women Kain has known you're about |the
only one who could really pin him down, if you
 twanted to. And do you know why? Because you haven't faiade
a single play for him."

| "I don't care for detached discussions like this. You |alk as if
there's no such thing as love. How do you know Tm not secretly
falling in love with Roland?"

L He gave her a swift glance in which the smile had sharpened.

"Hey, now. Don't confuse things by doing anv-
jthing as rash as that. If I thought there was the least

'chance of it I'd have him recalled to head office."

j. "Why?"

j "Because you deserve someone rather more solid, little Tess.

Besides, I still feel you should get around with people of your own
age before you think about love." Just slightly, his voice deepened.
"You've got to come into Contact with this love business before you'll
recognize it in yourself. There's calf-love, infatuation, a hankering for

Security—they're all counterfeit when it comes to marriage."

"And is it your opinion," she asked demurely, "that every

woman—or man, come to that—should wade
 through the bogus in order to recognize the genuine?"

"Not exactly. It's just being able to recognize the

varieties for what they are that's so important to a girl
like you. Take calf-love, for instance; you should have had
your prophylactic shot of that when you were about
seventeen."
"Maybe I did; we had a poetic type here about that time and I
longed to mother him! What about infatuation?"
"That's rather different—it can happen at any age, but it's safe to
say that if you're the kind who's had a spell of hero-worshipping
someone, you're past temptation. Sver fall for a photograph?"
"Vaguely—several times."

"Then you won't be caught that way." He let a minute elapse

before resuming, "You're an obvious candidate for the third thing I
mentioned—marrying for security."
"That's ... not very kind."
"I was being objective. Deep inside, you must have felt very
unsafe here in Canada after your father died. I'd say your mother isn't
a strong, independent type."
"No, she isn't." .
 "But you're crammed with loyalty and the do-or-die mentality,
though underneath you know your strength isn't up to the demands
made on it. You'd find it awfully difficult to resist any decent guy
who offered to love you and care for you for the rest of your life."

What Steve said might have been true a few weeks ago. It wasn't
true now, though she couldn't tell him that. She merely shook her
head, shrugged and pointed down to a clearing at the lakeside. "May
be stop for a bit?"

He swung the wheel. "Sure. I saw a whole family of chipmunks

here a couple of days ago." He braked and switched off. "Quiet, isn't
it? You feel there's no human being within ten thousand miles."
She smiled, watching (he lake and the trees which hem-
med it in. The scene composed a perfect peacefulness , which
was enhanced by the sudden descent from a tree of a squirrel. She
could hear chipmunks chittering, and ; the scamper of furry things
among the green bracken between the trees, and she breathed in the
scent of pines
and damp soil. j |
"You've already been here?" she asked.

100
 y "I brought Anita across in your canoe. It's about a mile

a half diagonally across the lake to Garth House."

|||:. "Yes, of course."

IJ_ A faint breeze blew through the trees and she felt cool

BNaturally, Steve had investigated his surroundings; he was

jjbound to. And he didn't have to mention it each time

j|he took Anita for a drive or out in the canoe. Still, some jjof the
magic had gone from (he morning.
||_ "Go to sleep, if you want to," he said. "We've an hour

SOT more to spare."

iw
g- "I have to get back in time to prepare lunch."
g| "You're to have an easy day. We'll have cold lunch and

help to get it."

H "On Sunday I'd rather cook at midday than in the

^evening."
 1. "We can do without cooking, for one day. Stop tying

ggyourself in knot's."
gj. Tess half closed her eyes but stared at the lake. It

jUooked a long, long way to the dark green of the far g:bank,
but somewhere over there stood Garth House and j-its gradual rocky
slope to the water. Oddly, in that moment phe knew an unmistakable
reluctance to return home. If s[sbe could drive away from Lake
Kenegan . . . with Steve

j.. . . but that was impossible. You couldn't get into a car

I'"nd set it moving away from your difficulties; particularly ou

couldn't do it with a man like Steve. Not unless
She felt his hand touch hers on the seat, heard him hisper, "Look
through my window. They're putting on show, especially for you."

They were bears, two of them, very young and inquisi-ve as

they wandered-among the tree trunks hoping for ouble. Their fur was
thick, dark and glossy, their noses ere black, their eyes small, beady
and merry. Desultorily,

ey sat up and pawed each other, sparred, tumbled and re round

and round the trees, till one of them stopped ;ad and the other bunted
him at speed. They wrestled 11 flat with paws wide as if taking the
count.

Tess laughed silently and helplessly till it pained her hen,

finally, the two small round bears ambled off, she

: the laughter bubble out, and found Steve watehine r

amusedly.

101

"I wouldn't have missed that," he said. "It's even

brought color to your cheeks."

"Have you seen bears act like that before?"
"Many times, but I didn't expect to see it here. This
isn't bear country."
"The bears are part of the service of the plush hotel

down at the other end of the lake. They imported two couples
several years ago and the families have wandered up and down the
lakeside. They're fed honey to keep them in this district. Once, with
my father, I did see one of
 the older bears, but this is the first time I'ce come across the
babies. Weren't they delicious!"

"I've been meaning to have a look at the Lake Kenegan Hotel.

What else do they serve besides the animal touch?"

"The whole atmosphere is expensive log hut, if you know what I

mean. Inside the hotel they have suites with private bathrooms, a
wonderful dance floor, a resident band all the way from Victoria, and
modern film shows. Outside, it's. sport with luxury, and all the
trimmings that the not-too-intelligent rich are supposed to appreciate.
Their outdoor waitresses dress as Indians, in fringed leather skirts and
bright beads with a band round their hair, and I've heard it said that
from every window there's a view of the lake and a lone Indian
fisherman; they pay him to sit out there in a canoe for atmosphere!"

Steve laughed. "Is that true, or are you being feline? We'll go
down there right now for a drink, and if you've
been kidding me . . ."

He eit it tail off and started the car. For a panicky moment she
thought of her slacks; and then it was no use thinking about them, for
they were back on the road and already covering the seven or eight
miles to the lower
end of the lake.
 Tess had never entered the Lake Kenegan Hotel ground from
this angle; in fact, she had visited the place only

once, on her eighteenth birthday, and the rest she had learned
from hearsay. But substantially, what she had told Steve was true. The
waitresses not only wore Indian dress but they had black hair parted
in the middle with long black braids swinging and they wore tawny
make-up. The outdoor tables were fashioned from huge logs, but the
chairs were modern and gay. Horses browsed on the hill-

102

I ie and were tethered among the trees, men and women

cowboy get-up or wearing the newest continental jeans id

jerseys sat about drinking from tall glasses or eating

i-cream.

Tess wondered at the dearth of children until, after e and Steve

had finished their iced coffee, the two of em strolled among the trees
towards what was artily mposted as "Tepee Village". And there they
found the lildren, about twenty of them, all clad as cowboys and dians
and having the whale of a time on good-tempered ibald ponies, or
dancing to the weird unmusical shrieking

a genuine Indian boy. It was fantastic.

Steve paid a dollar and they entered the main tepee to amine the
masks and woodcraft, the memento totem •les, the spear heads. He
came out smiling and shakin" i head.

"They've got everything," he commented. "How would u like to

turn Garth House into a place like this?"
"Not at all. It's revolting."

"Oh, I don't know. They're making lots of people g,imghty

happy. Those kids, for instance."

y "Children are just as happy if they make a tent of their gown

from old sacking and have to share some moth-eaten Jold nag. I don't
believe they should have everything laid I0"'"

|1 "Toughie, eh?" He took her arm to lead her back to |the car. "I
don't quite get you, you know. You remind
 I me of a Mountie I used to be matey with. He went three days
without food while he ruthlessly hunted a couple of wanted men and
looked no different after it, but one day

g.he accidentally hit a hound with his car, and it took him j
weeks to get over it. He used to sweat if a dog so much
jas ran beside his car on the sidewalk."
I- "He has "y sympathy. I once grazed a tree with the |Buick to
avoid a jack-rabbit!"

They drove back to Garth House along the familiar

road home time, Steve promised, he would take her out | to

North Tucket. So far, there was not much to see They
| were clearing scrub from the old working and setting up some
of the gear, but he wanted to keep his squad of men and it wouldn't do
to be ready much before the rail-way line reached the site. They were
just plodding ahead.

103

She might be interested in the camp, though. It comprised three

long wooden huts, each of which was divided up into eight cubicles
which were used only as bedrooms. The men had a communal bath-
house, did their own oddments of washing and were supplied with a
cook who dished up a hot breakfast and dinner and provided tons of
bread, meat, fruit and cheese with ums of coffee for lunch.

"What do the men do at the week-ends?" she asked.

"There's a lorry they can use. Those who normally live in the
Pelton district go home and the others take in a movie or a game of
pool. The older hands stay in camp and save their money. You see,
when the mine really gets into production we'll build a township for
the workers and their families; it's already planned. There'll be
nothing to prevent the men from buying their own homes through the
company."

"And all that so near to Garth House? It seems incred-ible," she

said musingly. "We've always been so cut off."

"Too cut off," he said abruptly. "You're going to grow up

whether the prospect frightens you or not. I mean that."

She answered quietly, "I'm far more grown up than you think.
Maybe I'm a little missing on the romantic side, but . . ."
 "We'll take care of that too," he said, his smile narrow-eyed. "By
the time we three men are ready to move quar-ters you won't know
yourself."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's meant like one. Do you feel better now?"

"Oh, heaps," she said gratefully. "It was awfully good of you to
take me out for (he morning, Steve."
"Don't adopt the humble tone with me!"
"I'm not. I mean it. Your brutal approach was just right."

He was suddenly and ominously quiet. Then, very softly, so that

she barely heard it above the car's engine: "Thanks, child, that's all I
wanted to know. Just don't say another thing!"

Bewildered and apprehensive, Tess took care not to look his

way. They wound up towards Garth House, swerved round the drive
to the front of the building.

104

Quickly, before he could come round, Tess got out of the estate
car and said brightly:
 "It's twenty minutes to one; I must skate. Thanks again, Steve."
And she walked as fast as she could into
the house.
Whatever tumult had started within her receded the moment she
reached the kitchen. For Anita was there,

in a crisp green frock with a frilly white apron over it, and the
room smelled savory and warm. Anita's face had the excited girlish
expression, her cheeks for one were pink. Only her eyes were hard,
but to anyone except Tess they would have looked a brilliant,
anticipatory amber.

"Hi, girlie," said Anita, as she ladled a fine brown soup into the
tureen. "Thought I'd surprise you. Today you have lunch a 1'Anita,
something special."

"Well, what do you know!" Tess went to the stove. "It smells
marvellous, Anita."
"Keep away, if you don't mind," with a tightish smile. "I'm
claiming all the credit."
"I should jolly well think so. I'll lay the table."
"It's already done—in the dining room. You don't have to do a
thing except wait for me to dish up."
"But, Anita . . ."
 The small dark girl swung about, faced Tess like a vindictive
and pretty little animal. "You keep out of it. You stole Steve for the
morning, and now let me have my moment! Go and sit with the men.
And don't try to serve anything during lunchtime!"
"But I can't let you serve as well as cook."
"If you don't do as—I-ask," said Anita from between her small
white teeth, "I'll tell them all what I saw this morning when I peeped
round the edge of your door. Yes, I was there! I heard Steve's voice
and was curious; I saw him sitting behind your bare shoulders. . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Tess. "You've come down here

wearing less than I had on then. I hurt my neck. . . ."

"I wish you'd broken it!" The white teeth snapped again. "Now
get out—or I'll make something of it."

It was unreal. Tess stood back and watched for a moment, saw
Anita hack savagely at a loaf; never for a second had it occurred to
her that Anita Vance could feel so strongly about Steve Fenner, and
even now it was

105
 difficult to take it in. And yet there was something fiendish in
the swift motions of those fragile wrists, the jangling of the bracelet
packed with gold charms.
She turned and went into the small cloakroom under the stairs,
washed her hands and looked into the mirror above the basin. But it
wasn't forget-me-not blue eyes that she saw. It was the yellowish
ones, staring hate down from a bedroom window, staring still more
hate across the kitchen of Garth House.

She sounded the gong, directed the three men into the dining
room. "We're lucky," she said clearly, as Anita brought the platter of
bread to the table. "I ran out on you this morning and intended to dish
up something cold. But Anita's been working while I idled. She's
turned out
a good hot lunch for us and insists on serving it herself. Will you
sit down?"

The worst task was seating herself. She got down into her chair
and clenched her fists on her knees. The men bravo'd Anita as she
brought in the soup. Steve-served it and said it smelt great. Tess
sipped some and recognized a canned type, good but still canned.
Next came tiny fish balls which the men voted "really tasty". Also
from a can, Tess noted. The fillet steak was genuine
 and cooked just right; Anita said, "Filet mignon! I'll bet it's the
first since you men came to Garth House." George said, yes it was,
and she'd made a superb job of it. Steve chaffed her, said that no
woman as small and frail-looking should be able to turn out such a
meal. "Wait till you taste my pie!" came the bright-eyed response.

The pie-case was one which Tess herself had made and left in
the fridge. The filling was the contents of a can of bilberries decorated
with whipped tinned cream. It tasted good, and so it should. The men
were loud in their praise, even of the delicate arrangement of biscuits
and cheese on the usual board.

Tess sat it through and even let George fetch the coffee. She
knew that Anita's tenancy of the kitchen was at an

end; the washing-up would be left, Anita would discard the

apron and slip through to the lounge for coffee and more adulation
from the men. But before Tess could escape there was one last thrust
from the enemy.

106
 "Steve, I've been wondering about that invitation we had last
night from those Gregory people along the lake. They really meant us
to go there for dinner this evening,
you know."
"Yes," he said, smiling, "I think they did. They were
a darned nice couple."
"It's a good day for it—Sunday and no rain. If we went out it
would make things easier for Tess this evening. Just the three of them
to cater for."

Even then, when he could not really turn Anita down, Tess
felt—or perhaps hoped—he was hesitating. But for some reason he
looked at Tess and seemed to remember something not entirely
pleasant. He hardened slightly, turned the smile once more upon
Anita.

"We'll go," he said. "We'll take a drive first—leave here at about

five. Keep that frock on. It's pretty."

"Silly," said Anita, wrinkling her nose at him. "It's just a garden
thing. Tonight I'll wear something really fetch-ing!"

Her glance—yellow, deep amber, topaz, whatever it was—

slipped past Tess as if she weren't there. Anita felt she had worked
hard to expunge the morning's jaunt from Steve's mind, and
succeeded.

Tess left the men and began the washing-up. Roland came to
help, nudged Tess as he reached for a drying cloth.
"What a gal, that Anita," he said. "She sure knows her men."
"It was a good lunch," Tess replied guardedly.
"It was a good hunch, too," he returned, giving his wink. "I think
you got her burned up, and she decided to get to work on it. She can
sit back now and let you do all the cooking for the rest of her stay.
One thing she's
sure of—you won't try a filet mignon."

"That's probably true." She glanced at him briefly. "I didn't hear
you shouting praises." .

"I might have, if I hadn't seen through the wench. She made me
empty the bin for her, and it was full of cans."

Tess smiled faintly. "The canned foods are there to be used."

"Climb down," he said. "You're too charitable. The girl's after

Steve, and if you get in her way she'll pull the
 107

earth from under you. Whatever happens, don't cross her. She's
been handling George all her life, and a rich young husband for part
of it. There's one thing," he laughed to himself, "if she gets Steve she
may find he's not the easy
meat the others were."
"Why are you suddenly against her?"
"I'm not against her — unless she hurts you. But she doesn't
deceive me, either. I was taken in by the tears that first night, but
since then I've noticed her gradually chang-ing her tactics. Steve had
to pity her as soon as possible. Pity, the text book tells us, is akin to
love, and that gave
her a head start. Since then, she's been strong in mind
and weak in body. Noticed it?"
"You're being mean."
"No, just realistic. I'll tell you another thing. The
reason she eats hardly anything is because she loves being tiny
and terribly appealing. She swallows vitamin
pills by the bucket."
"How do you know all this?"
"I'm the only unbiased observer in this joint," said Roland.
"You're mostly too busy, and you have a bit of
a yen for Steve. . . ."
"That's not true!"
 "All right, I'll take your word for it." But it was obvious he
didn't. "You're busy, anyway. George is the woman's brother and
slightly warped by his own problem, and Steve is a bit gone on the
dear little widow, so he
can't see straight, either."
"And you're the. one detached onlooker," she said, a
little thinly.

"Not so detached." He sounded quieter than usual. "I'm not in

love with you, Tess — I've never been in love — but I like you a heap
better than I've ever liked any other girl. That honey-tongued little
vixen may be
George's sister, but don't trust her as you'd trust him, or
even for his sake. She's poison."
"You're scamping your job," Tess said, "and your tea-towel is
wet. You can leave me to finish, though."

Roland wandered out, humming abstractedly to himself. Tess

was aware of an aching body and heavy eyes. It

must be sleep stealing up on her.

 108

CHAPTERSIX

NEXT morning it was summer again, but there was just the
faintest chill on the breeze. After the men had left for the site Tess did
her usual chores and set off for town with the laundry. Mrs. Wills
accepted it, recounted the latest exploits of her eldest and promised to
be ready early on Thursday. Tess did some shopping for provisions,
placed a large order for meat which also had to called

for on Thursday, and loaded up with bread. She had discovered

that if wrapped in a polythene bag and stowed in the fridge while
new, a loaf remained eatable for a week; it might have kept longer if
she'd had more fridge space. On an impulse, she counted the few
dollars she had in the pocket of her jeans and decided to treat herself
to a book. After much thought she chose a week-end book packed
with poems and humor, and splashed a dollar on magazines. She told
herself firmly that she had earned them.

It was just after eleven when she got back to Garth House and
met a young woman in green and ginger tweed slacks and a dark
green blouse. A friend of Anita's, it seemed. The two were lounging in
the stoep chairs, chat-ting and enjoying the vast expanse of the lake in
its green 'setting.
 Anita looked up at Tess, her smile wide and friendly. "I
wondered where you were, Tess. Would you mind bringing us some
coffee?"

No introduction to the friend, but Anita was within her rights.

George paid her bill each week, and she was therefore entitled to all
the privileges of a hotel guest. She could even order up whatever she
liked at any time of the

day and expect a neat waitress to be in attendance. But Tess

jibbed at getting into a frock and apron.

She brought out coffee with a plate of cookies, went back to the
kitchen and set about making a large fruit cake and a shortcake to
which she could add frozen strawberries later on. Her hands were
floury when the front bell rang. She rinsed and dried them, went
through

109

to the stoep. Two other women had arrived, older than the first
and much married. One of them was inspecting her surroundings.
 "I've passed this place but never stopped here," Tess heard her
say. "I hadn't any idea there was such 'a beautiful view. I'm so glad
you told us about it, Anita." Then she saw Tess and added, "Bring us
some coffee, my dear. And do you keep cigarettes?"

"I'm afraid not. Sorry."

Again Tess made coffee for two .and served it with cookies.
This time she waited for payment and politely thanked the customer.
If Anita, by her complete dis-regard of the circumstances, was hoping
to annoy and

humiliate Tess, she didn't succeed; she could bring as many

customers as she liked so long as they paid for what they had. Next
time, Tess thought flippantly, she would buy a frock instead of a
book.

Anita's guests decided to stay for lunch. Tess told them politely
that she could serve cold ham and salad and strawberry shortcake, and
Anita asked them, in long-suffering tones, whether they would settle
for that. They did, and had the dining-room to themselves. Tess
enjoyed her lunch alone in the kitchen, paging through the maga-zines
and deciding the sort of frock she would like; a figured material that
was mainly gold, she thought, in a semi-evening style. Something
really rather impractical,
 for a change.

The customers drifted out and Tess cleared the dining-table and
washed up. The shortcake was gone, so she would have to think up
something else for this evening. The men liked pies and puddings,
seemed to feel let down if she served a trifle or fruit mould. Raisin
roll with butter and sugar; a plain light pudding with hot stewed
plums or maple syrup? No need to decide for a couple
of hours, anyway.
She mowed the small lawn and tidied the beds full of dwarf
dahlias and ragged asters. A couple of the rose bushes were filling
with a new crop of buds, but they needed more attention than she
could give them. Through the gap between the cypress hedge and the
barn she could see Anita's car still in its place, but the other, the.
flashy affair in which the two older women had arrived, had

110

disappeared. Did that mean Anita was now alone? What about
the younger visitor — had Anita picked her up somewhere this
morning? Tess shrugged, and got on with the absorbing task of
tidying the garden.
 A car crunched over the gravel drive and she waved to George
as he braked, looked quickly at her watch. Four o'clock; he was home
early. She straightened and crossed the lawn to speak to him, peeled
off the muddy garden gloves.

"Hi," she said. "Had enough of it for one day?"

He smiled his slow, rugged smile, pushed a hand over

the grey wing of hair at his temple. "I've been classifying

stuff all day and gone woolly. You've made a neat job

of the garden. Why didn't you leave the mowing for me?"

"The grass wasn't really ready for mowing, but I felt like it. The
borders look smart, don't they? Like some tea?"

"I've had some, thanks. They were brewing as I left. Anita

inside?"

"The house is empty. I think she's gone down to the lake with a
friend."

"A friend?"
 "A girl of about twenty-six. Anita seems to have met quite a few
people in the district."

He nodded. "She always has to know lots of people." He flicked

an imaginary speck from the knee of his trousers and tacked on
casually, "I got home early because I wanted a word alone with you,
Tess. Do you mind?"

"Certainly not. Shoot."

"I'm not as forthright as you are, so I have to circle the subject a

bit." He paused. "I know it's not very easy for a girl of your sort to
like Anita. All her life she's been able to accept certain luxuries that
you've hardly known to exist, and perhaps they've spoiled her a little.
For instance — the lunch she prepared yesterday . . ."

"It was an excellent meal."

"Yes, it was, but the fact of her taking over made you uneasy. I
saw that."

"I'm simply not accustomed to being waited on by a guest, but if

Anita got pleasure out of it, why should I mind?"
 "I'm very glad it didn't upset you at all." He pushed

his hands into his pockets. "Fact is, she told me some-thing last
night that's put me in a quandry. You'd already
gone to bed when she came back from that dinner party
with Steve. We three had a drink together and Anita and
I went upstairs before Steve did. She pulled me into her
bedroom and began to cry." Tess didn't help him at
all; she couldn't. So he went on stiffly, "I comforted
her and asked her what was the matter. She told me she'd
never been in love with that boy she married, but that
she's in love now — with Steve, of all men."
Through dry lips, Tess queried, "Why are you tellin
me, George?"
He lifted a shoulder unhappily. "I suppose to you it
seems strange that I should confide in someone as young as you
are, but I had to get another slant on it, and in

spite of your youth you're a wise person. I've had to deal with all
kinds of crises in Anita's life, but never with one like this. I honestly
don't know what to do about it."

Tess looked down at the wet, distorted gloves, swung them

gently. "You know your sister very well and you know Steve better
than I do. Is is possible that he's . . .
 falling in love with her?"

"I don't know. I hate talking about the private affairs of another
man, but I do wish I knew what he thinks
about Anita."
"Don't you think that perhaps she knows? Why did she
weep?"
"Any emotional disturbance makes her cry — she does it easily
these days. She said she felt deep inside that he cares for her, but she's
sure he won't say a word for at

least another six months — till she's been free a year — and she
couldn't bear to wait .that long." He gestured un-comfortably. "Apart
from the young husband, whom she chose herself, I've always been
able to get for Anita any-
thing she wanted. So you see how I'm placed."

Anita had we'pt her plea for Steve Fenner, and if he could
possibly manage it, George would get Steve for

her. "It's not quite two weeks since they met," she reminde him a
little shortly. "Can't you tell her firmly that she

must wait?"
 112

"I did point that out," he said tiredly. "I'm sure you •understand
me pretty well — I'm so uncomplicated — but
understanding Anita is rather different. She's very sweet,
really, and awfully young for her years, but I'm certain
that in the right environment she'll be happy and whole
and make some man a wonderful wife. She has it in her
to be a great person; it's worldly experience that's lacking."
; He was wrong there, Tess reflected. Anita was mature in
|every way but one; she had never grown up emotionally, land in part
George was to blame. He had dealt with her |troubles and kept her
financially secure, he had apparently |said nothing against her
marrying a rich young man who Shad no job and was mad on sport.
Perhaps he was blam-
|ffig himself for that now, condeming himself for daring HP
hope that through Anita's marriage he might himself
||md happiness with the woman he loved.
|| "I'm afraid I 'can't advise you, George," she said

fabruptly. "The whole thing depends on Steve, doesn't it?" | He

nodded, and sighed. "And he's not likely to tell a
 |soul how he feels — not even Anita. There's just one way |in
which you and I might help her. We can . . . leave

|them alone together, let him see her as she really is — a I'very
young and innocent person in spite of the way the | world has treated
her."
1 "If you want them to be alone you may have to take
Roland Kain into your confidence."
I' "Kain has to return to head office for a week or two, | maybe
longer. I hesitate to offer myself as your escort,

'but perhaps you'll co-operate with me, for Anita's sake? ljust so
that she knows everything is in her favor."
I Tess pondered, quelled the words that rose to her

'lips and said instead, "Very well, George, but I think lyou
should realize that fundamentally you and I can do

s nothing whatsoever to further a match between your l.sister

and Steve. If he wants her, he'll see that nothing
I gets in the way of it; and if he doesn't, nothing you or S.1
could do would make any difference at all."

t "That's true." He smiled. "I said you were fortright, ITess, and I
repeat it. I wish one or two other people were |as outspoken."
 | Tess did not ask whom he meant; she didn't much care. rut
once more she thought what a fool he was to throw

113

away his own happiness. Deliberately she said, "You're a

fine,solid husband going to waste, George." And the moment the
words • were out she regretted them; for George went square-jawed,
tireder and harsh-voiced.

He said, "I'm just a bit past it, Tess. Thanks for listen-ing."

Tess turned with him towards the back door, stopped when he
did, as his sister came running along the path from the lake. Anita
flung an arm about him and kissed his cheek, giggled as she rubbed
lipstick from his skin.

"You're early, darling. How lovely!"

"Had a good day?" he asked.

''Perfect. This morning some people came up from

 town, and I spent this afternoon on the lake with Penny Gregory,
and left her along the lakeside, close to her own house." She turned to
Tess. "Your awful old canoe, Tess! It's gone again in the seams; we
had to bail all the time."

"I don't see why we shouldn't get Tess a new one," her brother
commented.

"The old one is all right for me," Tess told him. "I'm so used to
bailing that I'd be bored in a new canoe! Excuse me."

She went into the kitchen and made tea, then set about preparing
vegetables for dinner. She sang softly, deter-minedly, and thought
exclusively about roast loin of lamb, mint sauce, redcurrent jelly,
vegetables and raisin pudding.

« « «

Dick Nieland arrived sharp at eight. He came into the lounge,

murmured a conventional "Howdy" to the three men and Anita and
walked through to the kitchen. He found it empty, but waited there,
till Tess came down wearing a good but old tweed skirt with a white
blouse.

"Hallo," she said. "How are things going?" .

 He sat back on the edge of the table, looked at the bookcase
which helped to exclude the dining-table from the kitchen. "Not too
badly. You've made some changes here." -

"Minor ones, because I couldn't get any help. Maybe at the end
of the month I'll be able to get hold of a maid."

114

I" "If it's necessary," he said.

i She knew what he meant, but ignored it for the moment. jWith
the tow-colored crew-cut and unsmiling face he

.looked boyish and fine-drawn, too soft and sensitive to be left

in charge of the Blue Valley ranch. But there

i wouldn't be many difficulties yet; the place must'still be

[running on instructions left by Mr. Nieland.
"Mrs. Lesley back?" she asked.
 | He nodded. "She's a hard-headed Scot, and I've talked things
over with her. She agrees with me that you should [dose this place at
once and come over to our place."
: "What I do is no concern of Mrs. Lesley's."
[ "It's mine, though, Tess," his tones gained warmth and
pleaded a little. "I don't want to have to argue a lot
about this — I've too much else on my mind. Let's simply
do the sane thing, the thing my father arranged. You're
under no obligation to these people who are staying here,
and it wouldn't hurt three grown men to travel the extra
eleven miles morning and evening. If they'd arrived in
this district a day or two later you might never have met
them."

This was true, and the thought of it did something

queer to Tess. Never to have met Steve? ^

"But Mr. Fenner was interested in buying the place before he

came; he thought the position had possibilities."

"Anyone might be interested in acquiring something purely as a

speculation. My father even bought a small ranch that way once, and
made a profit on it. These men who get about the country often pick
up snips. Garth House is just one of them."
 "I'm not interested in the rest of the country. I want the best deal
for the place that I can get. Even if I got only half as much again as
the price we're asking, my mother would find things a lot easier, and
that's all that interests me." Not strictly true, but near enough.

Dick squared his shoulders in his brown suede jacket. "You've

let the man talk you into it. He thinks that because you're a girl . . ."
He stopped abruptly as Steve came into the room.
Hurriedly, to gloss the remark Steve might have heard,
Tess made the introduction said, "We don't have to talk

115

in here, do we? No one ever uses the far comer of the lounge."

"There's nothing to discuss," said Dick tightly. "When I saw you

on Saturday I hadn't had time to think it out, but since then I've turned
it over throroughly in my mind. We can advertise again, stating that
an new road will be passing the property and a mine starting up at
North Tucket. Then we'll take the highest offer."
"You do that," said Steve equably. "It's the best way to get a fair
price. Meanwhile, I suggest that Tess writes to her mother giving the
facts as they now stand. After all," with gentle emphasis, "Garth
House is Mrs. Harvey's, and she has the final word." His tolerant
glance examined Dick, flickered over Tess and somehow seemed to
make a point of the fact that she was wearing a skirt for the young
man, and came to rest once more upon Dick's slightly flushed face. "I
hear that through your father's illness you suddenly find yourself in a
position of some responsibility. Don't make things tougher for
yourself
by taking on more than you're able to tackle."

"You know nothing about Tess's problems," said Dick jerkily.

"It was most unfair to persuade her to reopen
the house simply for your convenience."

"Is that how she put it?" .

"No, I didn't!" Her blue eyes glinted crossly. "I said it was more
convenient for you than Pelton, and so it is.

What I haven't yet put into words is the pleasant fact that I'm
making a little money out of my four guests, and it saves my having
to take a job I'd detest and travel backwards and forwards to Blue
Valley." She appealed to Dick. "You'd no. sooner left for Calgary
than things changed. I had the chance of hanging on here till the place
is sold, of taking paying guests and of saving
a little cash. The whole object of keeping Garth House open is
so that my mother will benefit as much as possible. Don't you see
that?"
 "Of course I do," said Dick, frowning, "but it's so futile. You've
admitted you can't get help. . . ."

"The men and Mrs. Vance help me."

"But why be placed in such a position? You know I need you at

Blue Valley. You don't have to get a job,

116

I01' sc,r,imp and save- J 1"^ want y0" ^ere. YOIT know that,

t There was a brief, rather electric silence. Then Steve

;said, with sharp sarcasm, "Surely you have a reply to that,

Tess? It isn't often you're clean out of backchat."

"Oh, shut up," she said, and then sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't mean
to be rude. This discussion we arranged
•seemed to have backfired, and all I wanted was to have things
clear. I'm afraid Steve is right. . . ."

• "Don't mention it honey."

 : She ignored him. "I'll write to my mother and ask her to reply
by return. With luck, we'll have her decision

:m eight or ten days. Till then we'll go on as we are."

• "My father is against it!" Dick exclaimed. "You're

.taking advantage of the fact that he's ill." "Dick, how dare you!"

^ Steve had moved forward. In clipped accents he said ;

That's enough, Nieland. We were established here for a fortnight
before you eame home and told Tess'about your father. He's older and
wiser, and I've no doubt he'd understand how she feels. You'll have to
try to under-stand, too. It's very simple; Tess wants to remain
independ-ent and get a good price for the property. If you have her
interests at heart you'll help her in both."

A muscle worked in Dick's jaw. "You're mighty

anxious to get Garth House, aren't you? Have you been

prospecting the acreage? Did you find traces of nickel 'or something?"
"Sure. And there's gold in that there lake. For the love of Mike,
grow up."
 By now, Tess was so frustrated and angry with them both that
she could have knocked their heads together. Not that she'd have had
much chance with Steve. He was head and shoulders above her,
standing in a lounging position near the Windsor armchair, and
looking as if he could think up much crueller things than those he had
said.

She stared at him. "Do you mind leaving us?"

"Don't glower at me, little one. I'm here to help. Seeing that your
friend Dick feels he should be the helper- I'll make a suggestion. If
he'll make the same offer for Garth House that I've made, I'll stand
down."

117

"I wouldn't want Garth House even if I could afford it," said
Dick. "I've enough worry."

"Then leave the whole thing alone. If the transaction

.goes through and it needs to be explained to your father, I'll
undertake to do it myself."
 "Why should you promise a thing like that? You're a stranger
here."

"A stranger is almost bound to buy the place; hadn't you realized
that?" Steve gave a shrug that looked almost bored. "Why are you
burning yourself up about it? The fact that Mrs. Harvey asked your
father to act for her doesn't mean that she'd have as much confidence
in you. In any case, your father would have had to contact her before
accepting any offer at all. What's your angle?"
"I've no angle—only rights."

Steve's grey eyes darkened slightly, but his voice re-tained the
ninchalance. "What sort of rights?"
Dick's hands clenched and moved in his pockets. "I'v asked Tess
to marry me."
Steve didn't speak at once, nor did he change his ex-pression. He
merely allowed a long moment to speak for itself, and then,
carelessly, he straightened up and mur-
mured, "That rather alters everything, doesn't it?' Why didn't
you mention it first, and save us all a lot of hot air? Well, 111 leave it
with you. So long."
He sauntered from the room with arrogant composure, and Tess
was left with a hot mangled feeling in her throat* and jagged splinters
behind her eyes. She gazed at the grey ash between the bars of the
stove, willed herself to disregard the pain of love that seemed to have
become knotted about her midriff.

"Why did you tell him that?" she asked at last. "It has no bearing
whatsoever on the sale of Garth House. I wish you hadn't come here
this evening!"
Dick turned on her accusingly. "You didn't tell me he
was that kind of a man. If there's anything I can't stand it's the
self-assured, masterful type. I wasn't going to let him get away with
everything, though. He's done enough harm!"
"What are you getting at?"

"He's turned you against Blue Valley—not deliberately, perhaps,

but it's happened. You pretended to be sympath- ,

118

letic on Saturday, you were all soft and compassionate when

[you listened to my moaning about my responsibilities, but all the
time you were cheerfully convinced that you didn't have to bother
about me any longer. There was someone else who would see that you
made a good sale, someone
 who had plenty of cash and brute strength and mental •stamina.
You didn't care that I'm all on my own now, that I'm tied to Blue
Valley for ever and detesting the very

! thought of it!"

' She drew a deep breath. "I cared, and I still care. If I

i can do anything at all to make things easier for you, I will.

^But I won't marry you, Dick—not even from pity or to ^ensure that
you eventually have Blue Valley for your own. |,To save you saying
anything more, I'll tell you that I

i wouldn't marry you even if you were in love with me and I

there were no strings. Please go now."

j Young and preoccupied with his own difficulties as he \

was, Dick saw his mistake. He came closer, touched her

' arm pleadingly. "I'm terribly fond of you, Tess, and I do

, need you."

:" "Some other time," she said offhandedly. "Good. night." "I
can't go out through that lounge on my own. He'd
 think you'd kicked me out!"

"Very well, I'll go with you."

She went ahead, but he caught up with her, and -by the time
they entered the lounge he had slipped his hand over hers and gripped.
Tess no longer cared. She sensed two men and Anita seated near a
low table, and Steve at the window, staring out. Then she was outside
with Dick, standing there while he opened the car door and paused,
miserably. She half-turned, felt him clutch at her shoulder and was
surprised into looking at him. The next second his mouth touched the
corner of hers. Conscious of the big lighted window behind them, she
did not jerk away. She moved slowly, said, "Good night, Dick," and
went up into the lounge.

Without looking at anyone at all she was able to say, "Do you
mind locking up, George? I'm going to bed. Good night, everyone."

She took a bath and got into bed, opened the book she had
bought, but found she couldn't read a word. She put out the light and
lay back, queerly conscious of a kind of

119
 shock and of a blinding, conflicting emotion. New knowl-edge
of herself touched her nerves. She felt desperate and lonely, lonely as
she had never been in her life before.

Next morning Tess wrote to her mother, explaining the position

and asking for her decision. No persuasive note was permitted to
creep into the sentences; until the final paragraph, in which she sent
her love, the letter was cool-and objective. Tess gave it to Roland
Kain for posting when/hejncked up the mail.

For several days after that life was uneventful. The men had
early breakfast in the kitchen and cleared off, then Tess served
herself, took coffee and toast up to Anita and remained upstairs to
make beds and tidy the rooms Some mornings Anita did not. appear
downstairs till noon, and on those days Tess would go through the'
men's mending or do out the cupboards or wash and iron her own
things and Anita's. She didn't mind any of the services for Anita
Vance; in a way, they put distance between herself and the slender
young widow, accentuated Anita's place in the household—that of
hotel guest.

In the afternoons Anita often had friends for tea. She would
come down in a gay frock with the white kid-skin jacket over it, and
set herself out in the stoep to await their arrival. She never told Tess
that she expected visitors, nor did she say anything before sliding into
the scarlet convertible and racing down into Pelton or out into the
hills to call upon someone.

Dinner, served in the dining-room, had become a meal for four'.

Tess always made sure that the soup tureen was

on the table before sounding the gong, and she wheeled in the
main course on a trolley that was large enough to accommodate
everything but the hot pudding, in order to restrict her appearances to
two brief ones.

The first time she had absented herself from the dining-room —
on the evening following the scene in the kitchen with Dick—Steve
had given her one grim glance and that was all. Since then he hadn't
looked her way once. He had taken his turn at the woodshed, repaired
the Buick, in-spected all the new wiring and replaced the old flex of
the vacuum cleaner with a new one, but he had stayed clear

of the kitchen when she was there. In a bitter, aching kind of

way, Tess was glad.

120
 I That Saturday, Roland Kain left by train for Toronto. j George
drove him down to the railway station and Tess

^ went along for the drive and to collect some things she I
needed. They waited with Roland for the train, laughed i when he
bemoaned the fact that he'd lost an address book I full of cute dates.

t "Well, it's refreshing to break new country," Tess com-

|forted him. "Maybe you'll find just one who'll last the
| whole time you're there." .
j "Heaven forbid," was his sober response. "If you take a
I girl out more than once she expects you to marry her!" He

j looked at George. "I shall have a couple of hours in j

Vancouver. Anything you'd like-me to do there?"
j George shook his head, rather quickly. "Nothing, thanks.
^Anita's things have been stored by an agent and I've never
j lived anywhere but at the hotel for years."
| Roland was persistent. "No friends I can see for you?"
| "None at all."
I "Okay. I'm hoping they'll send me back to North Tucket I
soon."
i "You are?" said Tess. "I've always thought of you as
^definitely a city type."
 I "So I am, but this district has something—you, for

instance. Like me to come back soon, wouldn't you?" She

smiled. "I'm going to miss you, of course, even

though you are a bit messy about the kitchen. I'll save some
washing-up for you."

"Heck! If you ever come to Toronto, Tess, promise you'll never

let on that I dried dishes. If my favorite red-head heard about it I'd be
hooked for life!"
There was more in the same vein, and then Roland boarded the
train, blew kisses and was wafted away. Tess got back into the car
with George, made sure her purchases

were safe on the back seat and said she was ready to return to
Garth House. George was in less of a hurry. He took her
to a cafe for tea, bought a couple of tickets for a cabaret show at
the Lake Kenegan Hotel and said he was taking her there tonight.
"What about the dinner?" she asked.
t "Hadn't you heard? Steve and Anita are going to a

I birthday party at the country club. One of Anita's friends. ;!

think."
 I 121

"Then that lets us out, doesn't it—in every sense?" she answered
evenly.
He smiled his slow smile. "I think you'd rather go out with me
than stay at home with me, wouldn't you? You don't want to go over
to Blue Valley?"

"I ought to, but perhaps Sunday is the best day for it."

"You didn't introduce us last Monday."

"Dick feels a bit raw. He's a sensitive sort and finds the burden
of the ranch rather wearing."

"He won't mind your going places with me, will he? My age
should make it safe, from his viewpoint."

Tess only smiled and shrugged. She couldn't think about Dick
Nieland without seeing Steve, cool and uncaring as he had strolled out
of the kitchen last Monday.

When they got back to Garth House at six the place was
deserted. Without even thinking about it, Tess got into her green print
and made up her face, trod into unfamiliar high-heeled black suede
shoes. She accepted George's sur-prise and admiration with a numb
smile, and as they drove down the lake road in the early darkness she
looked at the onyx expanse of water and thought of the country club,
which was reputed to have been built alongside one of the most
beautiful rivers in British Columbia. It was the same river, she
thought, which emptied into the lake four miles below Garth House,
and whipped rapidly among a series of bush-covered islands before it
evened out into the lake proper. You couldn't see the white waters
from the road, but a few rich people had seized on the view and built
their lakeside houses facing it; they had even turned a

waterhole into a bathing pool.

The dinner at Lake Kenegan Hotel was very French, the cabaret
good in parts. A colored singer broke his heart over someone, a wiry
French-Canadian juggler sweated through his act and an amateur
string trio gave music which was beyond their range. The highlight of
the bill, fairly well-known singing twins, were good to look at as well
as to hear. When the turns were finished a dance band struck up and
George insisted that Tess "take him round". Canadian-fashion, a
young man tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Sorry, pal." George
grinned, and yielded.

For the next hour Tess really did forget her cares. She
 rediscovered a natural rhythm in her bones, picked up new

122

g".
t steps in no time at all and thoroughly enjoyed the couple of
men who scarcely let her sit down between dances.

One of them said nothing but, "Gee, that hair and that skin,"
over and over. But the, other told her all about him-self, promised he'd
darned well bring a bunch over to

Garth House for a barbecue if she'd provide the steaks— af his

expense, of course. Would Wednesday be all right?
Why not, asked Tess—but he'd have to bring his own music and
drinks.

It was after twelve-thirty when George drove her home. "No

need to ask if you had a good time," he said. "I
always knew the guys would flock round you if they once
caught a proper glimpse of you."
 "I loved it, George, but I'm afraid it was dull for you. Why didn't
you do some cutting in yourself? There were several nifty pieces
about!"

"I'm a stiff dancer—too old for it, I guess."

"You speak as if you're ninety, but do you know some-;. thing?

You were the best-looking man there."

: George was mildly nattered. "Not better-looking than

; young what's his name who kept sniffing at your hair? He

had a most amazing profile."

"I've noticed that out here," she said interestedly. "You

get a young man who looks an Adonis and yet hasn't one idea in
his head. The sensible ones are more craggy-

looking."

"People of mixed blood are often good-looking without being

bright, but some of them are highly intelligent."
 "That must be the ugly ones among them," she decided, and
drew a pleasurable sigh. "It was wonderful—you've initiated me,
George. Thank you very much."

"Haven't you ever been there before?"

"Only with my parents, and we didn't stay for the dancing. You
know," she said with youthful eagerness, "I'm a much better dancer
than I thought I'd be. Will you take me again?"

"I sure will. You're the only woman I know who can respond to
ordinary, pure fun without a touch of sophistic-ated boredom. It's a
pleasure just to take you out and watch you."

Nothing happened to mar that evening. Garth House was as they

had left it. Tess made some tea, took the

123

tray upstairs and gave George a large cup and two biscuits -on
her way to her room. In leisurely fashion she undressed

and got into pyjamas, drank some tea and brushed the whitish
curling hair. It hadn't been cut for six weeks, she
 remembered suddenly, and its present length suited her Iy£g
back as it did, with a nestling of shallow waves at

the back of her head.

She heard the return of the estate car. Anita s tinkling tones and
Steve's deep drawl. She thought, He doesnt mean so much to me after
all. I enjoyed the evening much more than I would have enjoyed a
similar evening

^The'^nportant thing had been the knowledge that George was

in love with someone in Vancouver, that he
had taken Tess out this evening because both of them

were high and dry and might as well make the best of it
They were on a light friendly footing from the start, and

neither would ever expect anything from the other. And

being with George, she had to admit meant less risk

for herself from other men; it was an ideal arrangement.

She put out the light and looked across the balcony
at a crescent of pale green moon above the fi_Wo"ld

she have heard from her mother by full moon? She hoped

so; the letter might resolve a few things.

124
 ; CHAPTERSEVEN

;TESS missed Roland Kain more than she would have | thought.
Of the men, he alone had seen through Anita

.and he had talked unreservedly about George as well as given a

wary opinion about Steve. There was no one now with whom she
could pass remarks about the others, probe a little about them.
Anita, jingling her charm bracelet and wearing snazzy sports
ensembles, seemed to be riding the crest of'a wave with Steve beside
her and George tagging along behind.

As a temporary member she had joined a women's club and the

yacht club that operated lower down the lake; needles to say, in the
yacht club membership she was partnered by Steve. He had also taken
out a double membership at the country club and joined the riding

section. He now had plenty of reasons for spending his j

weekends away from Garth House.

Tess was not often alone. A couple of times she drove ' over to
Blue Valley and spent an hour or two with Dick,'
: but he hadn't much to say for himself, though Mrs. Lesley
overdid the talkativeness. On Tess's second visit the housekeeper
stayed with them for tea. She cut a fine fruit cake, said she'd wager
Tess would never have the patience to make anything so rich, and
disparaged girls in general. But when Dick was called away for ten
minutes the Scotswoman folded her arms across her waist, pursed her
lips in her hardy old face and commented:

"You may think it's clever to monkey with a man, but take care
you don't overstep yourself. He's not so keen on taking a wife that
he'll chase you for ever. Remember that, young woman!"
Tess smiled. "You're transparent, Mrs. Lesley. You'd hate Dick
to bring a wife here, but it so happens that you'd hate still more to
have him go off travelling in Europe. Well, whatever he does, it won't
be my concern. If I were you, I wouldn't persuade him to do anything.
Just wait till his father gets back."
"Don't give me advice. You don't belong here yet."

125

"I never shall belong here. I don't even belong in Canada."

"You're a fool or a deep one — I'm not sure which. I remember

that your mother was a fool, too. If she'd used some sense she could
have had Mr. Nieland and come in for a share of the ranch."
 "She wasn't foolish, Mrs. Lesley. She was fond of Mr. Nieland
and knew that perhaps in a year or two he would have asked her to
marry him, but there were other things she wanted more than a share
in Blue Valley. She's living with her .sister on a fruit farm in
Warwickshire, and loving it."

"But she's poor as maybe.. What good is that, at her age?"

"She's not poor. She has people who love her."
"And I suppose you think I haven't!"
"I'm not quarrelling with you, Mrs. Lesley. You simply have to
realize that you can't make people over, as you
want them. My mother isn't one of your strong types, and
neither am I."

"You mean you're scairt of coming as Dick's wife to Blue

Valley!"

The woman would never understand. She was a fine

housekeeper, a staunch friend of the Nielands and a jealous guardian
of their happiness; but she had not only never been in love — she
completely disbelieved in it.

Later, just before she left, Tess had a word alone with Dick. He
had gone out with her to the old car, looked it over and shaken his
head.
 "It's a wonder it still hangs together," he remarked. "Is it any use
asking you once more to let it go in part exchange for something
newer?"
She shook her head. "It'll last me out, and it's roomy. Are you
feeling better, Dick?"

"I'm all right in the daytime. I just hate the -nights, though."

She hated them herself, often. "But while the news about your
father is good you should at least not be unhappy."
"I wonder if I shall ever be happy again. I can hardly
recall how I felt before knowing my father distrusts me." "That's
an absurd way to look at it. Perhaps it was

126

! natural to be hurt at the time you found it out, but

; surely 'you can see the commonsense in that will? Your ,

father's only safeguarding Blue Valley for the future, as
far as he can. And you're part of its future, Dick."

When she drove away he looked morose and fed up. She fought
with herself for a while, made herself believe
 ; that her life was her own, not Dick Nieland's. Time, and
his responsibilities, would help him most, she thought.

The barbecue party arranged by the young man Tess had met at
the Lake Kenegan Hotel was a happy affair. Thirty-four young people
arrived packed in cars, just after dark, and the men of the party
immediately set about stoking up the charcoal fire which Tess had
started in the brick-lined pit just beyond the lawn. There was a grid to
fit the pit, and an old table stood near by, spread with a gay check
cloth and loaded with dishes of seasoned steaks, cutlets and sausages.
When the men had the cook-ing under way, Tess brought out stacks
of plates and paper

; napkins, baskets of bread rolls and drinking straws for the

bottles they had brought along with them.
: It was a coolish night, just right for sweaters and jeans, for
a huge fire and music and dancing. When the gang tired of eating they
began to sing to the accompaniment

, of a guitar, and soon they were whirling about the lawn. At

ten-thirty Tess made dozens of tender little cinnamon pancakes and
several pots of coffee, and after that she was drawn into the glowing
circle, made to take part in the dancing, to make up an eight for a
square."
 It broke up at midnight, and Tess found a cheque slipped into
her hand as she said good night. It was a

generous cheque, and after deducting the price of the food

served she was over fifty dollars in pocket. A new frock, definitely,
she decided; shoes, and maybe a really

smart long-sleeved winter blouse. She was tidying up the

kitchen when Steve and Anita arrived back from some
social affair they had been invited to in Pelton.

Anita came into the kitchen, smiling sleepily. "Will you bring a
glass of hot milk to my room, Tess? The skimmed
;milk, of course."
' "Anything to eat?"

j "No, it's just that I don't feel sleepy. Milk always helps."'

I • 127 •

"I'll bring it up in ten minutes." Then, from habit:

"Have a good evening?"

 "It was heavenly. Several of us went on the lake in the
moonlight. We landed on one of the islands and had

a sing-song. Steve's the best companion in the world!" She

waited for comment, and receiving none, went on, "It looks as if
you've had a hurricane outside. What's been
going on?"

"We put on a barbecue for some people in town. I'll clear the
garden in the morning."
"A barbecue? Why, that's a whale of an idea! I've been
wondering how Steve and I could repay some of the hospitality we've
received, and a barbecue is the perfect answer. You can't order up
anything in a dump like Garth House, but ... a barbecue! I'll talk to
Steve about it.

We wouldn't ask you to manage it for us — only to supply the

provisions."

"That's more or less what I did this evening. It was a great

success. Let me know a day in advance."

As she turned to the door, Anita paused. "By the way, there's
something you ought to know — about George."
 "Yes?" Tess found herself tensing slightly against the jingling of
that bracelet but her expression was blank.

"Just a hint — for your own good," came the little-girl voice
confidently. "George likes you, but that's all. He'll
never marry."

"I like him in return, Anita," said Tess evenly, "and I shan't ask
him to marry me. Does that set your mind at
rest?"

She pouted. "Now you're cross. One has to be so careful with

people who aren't well off. I didn't mean anything
nasty."
"Neither did I. I'll heat the milk right away."

Anita gave a jerky little shrug of her thin shoulders and

departed. Tess placed the milk saucepan on the stove and poured
Anita's skimmed milk into it. For a minute or two she mused about
the girl who traded on her smallness and childishness, her dependence
on the big, commanding male. Then she too gave a shrug, poured the
milk into a beaker which she covered and placed on a saucer, ready
for carrying upstairs.
 128

p She was at the foot of the staircase when Steve

K"' peared. Without a word he did what she expected,
ik the milk from her and nodded for her to precede him.
!iln the upper corridor she stopped and shook her head as
;he went to place the glass back in her hand.
| "It's for Anita. You can take it in, if you like," she |said.

| His glance narrowed, showed the glitter of little sparks. pBut

he said coolly, "Very well, I will. Good night."

1| She answered him and went into her room, sat down Ed
resolutely wrote up the accounts book. Tomorrow,

i decided, she would go into Pelton and buy the frock, s had
promised herself.

As it happened, though, Tess forgot that decision. She d just

helped Mrs. Wills to move some furniture in the
. inge next morning, when the mine truck drew up Ijbutside and
the driver called to her from the porch.

|; "Miss Harvey, there's a letter for you. Boss sent me |mto town
for the mail and I made a mistake and brought
 |away one of your private letters. My buddy here was

porting the mail and found it, so I thought I'd better | deliver it."

j "Thank you very much," she said. "Was there any t'other mail
in the box?"

| "I left a couple for Mrs. Vance. This one was a mistake. Boss
always says we're never to touch your letters."
F "You've saved me a trip. Like a cup of coffee?"

"I would, but I was warned against it. 'No sticking around in
town for coffee and hamburgers', the boss says. I guess that means
here, too. So thanks, but no."
Tess waved as he left, looked down at the bulky letter and saw it
was postmarked Calgary. The writing was Roland Kain's, and the
very sight of it lightened her heart a little. Roland had promised to
write, but she hadn't thought he would; he wasn't the corresponding

.. type. This fat missive was unbelievable — unless he was ;

enclosing something he thought might interest her.
' But no. There were four sheets of paper torn from a
; cheap pad, all of them closely covered with his smallish,
 , untidy writing. At the top of the letter Roland had written
simply, "On the train". She read, perplexedly.

Tess would hardly believe it, he told her, but on the way down
to Vancouver he had had George Maxwell on his mind. By the time
he'd got in he'd decided to miss the next train for Toronto and use the
spare hours on "an altruistic mission". With care, because it had to be
approached casually, he had got in touch with Frances Brodie and
asked her to take pity on him for the evening. It had taken a lot of
persuasion to get her assent, but eventually he had picked her up at
her flat and they had dined at a club. Frances had carelessly asked
after George and his sister and then dismissed the subject, but Roland
"in my evil, seductive fashion", had encouraged her to take a drink
and loosen up.

"The result was she told me the whole works, and believe me,
it's as bad as it can be. She called Anita 'that baby vampire', but said
nothing against George. Seems she saw Anita before George showed
up in Van-couver last time, and the dear little thing was as nasty as a
heartless and rich young widow could be to a woman of thirty who
has always earned her own living. Frances should have told George,
but she was afraid it might make things worse — that he would think
she was being vindictive at a time when Anita felt tragically alone.
Consequently, George had only Anita's angle on it, and though he
may not have wanted to believe all he heard, he was swayed. He did
make an attempt to get the three of them together one day, but
Frances wouldn't have it. She told him on the telephone that before
she saw him again he must decide whether she or Anita were the most
important to him. When he told her bluntly that he couldn't forsake
Anita she calmly replied that she quite understood and wouldn't be
writing to him again. About that side of it you know the rest.

"But there's a development. Frances has got herself appointed to

a hospital in Nova Scotia, and in case you're not up on the geography
of the country, she'll then be three thousand miles away from George
and therefore hardly likely to meet him again. I gave her my promise I
wouldn't tell George — and I'll keep that promise!

"But look, chum, we can't let this happen without a fight on the
woman's behalf. She's a fine person, and George is damned lucky to
have her in love with him.

130

So will you talk it over with Steve? Frances has been in-structed
to present herself at the hospital in N.S. on the first of next month —
which allows just over a fortnight for changing her mind, less, really,
because she's bound to leave Vancouver in good time. . . ."
 The final couple of paragraphs only emphasized what Roland
had already written. If anyone could help it would be Steve Fenner; he
wouldn't relish poking into [another man's affairs and Roland thought
it pretty hope-less even to put the matter to him. But the slender hope
had to be tried out. Had Roland felt he might stand a

.chance of Steve's taking him seriously he would have :written

direct to him. "But he'll listen to you, Tess, even 'if he turns you
down; and you're right there among it 'all, and able to argue, if
necessary. Do give Frances •Brodie a break. That dope George
deserves one as well."

He ended with the injunction: "Don't show this letter to Steve or

he'll be furious at the allusions to Anita. He's a bit gone "on the girl,
heaven help him."
As Tess folded the letter and pushed it into her pocket, 'she
heard Anita come into the lounge. She said an auto-matic "Hallo,"
subconsciously noted the tangerine play-suit and the mass of dark hair
about small shoulders, and
added, "The mine truck called here for something and the driver
told me there's a couple of letters for you at the mail-box in town. The
key is on the table in the back hall."
 Anita shrugged. "The letters can wait. They'll be lawyer's guff,
and I'm not in the mood for it. I'm going along the lake to some
friends."

"Will you be in to lunch?"

"I'm sure I don't know," came the offhand reply, and Anita
strolled .out and got into the scarlet roadster.

All day Tess thought about the letter from Ronald. She helped
Mrs. Wills, lunched alone with her, made a steak pie and apple
shortbread for dinner, prepared the vege-tables and soup, pressed
some salted beef, ready for the men's lunch box tomorrow and tossed
a salad in a garlic-scented bowl. She ran Mrs. Wills home and came
back to find the two men taking a drink in the lounge.

"Highball or martini?" asked Steve, as usual.

131

And as usual she shook her head. But today she did not walk
straight through to the kitchen. "Has Anita come in?" she queried.
 George answered. "She's gone out for the day — didn't you
know? She left out an evening frock for Steve to take along to a
friend's house this evening."

"Before or after dinner?"

"After — at about eight-thirty," Steve said. He looked at her

speculatively. "Something on your mind?"

"No, it's all right. I'll be serving dinner in about ten minutes."
And she left them.

Exactly ten minutes later George came into the kitchen. "Seeing
there's just the three of us, we may as well eat in here," he said. "I'll
set the table for you."

Tess did not comment; she had half expected it. But there was
something painful in sitting there intimately with the two men. She
had got out of the habit of eating with them, and now the atmosphere
was different from those early days. Roland, of course, had provided
light relief; but Steve, too, had mocked and bantered and paid her
backhanded compliments on the food. Tonight he had soup and pie, a
section of the apple shortbread and a piece of cheese, but he ate them
abstractedly — without tasting them, she thought. Once she caught
him watching her, impersonally, as if she merely happened to
 to be in his line of vision.

"How would you like to take in a movie tonight, Tess?" George

asked, as the meal ended.

"I think not, thanks," she said. "I'm going to bed early. We were
all late last night."

George smiled. "You should have been here, Steve. It was quite
a barbecue. I took to my room in self-defence, but I found myself
watching it all from the window. Tess
went slightly mad and it did her good."
"I also made a nice profit," she mentioned. "And do you know
something? I'm going to spend it on myself. I mean to look quite a
swell when I leave for home. I'll sail away in a private blaze of glory."

"What made you take on a barbecue?" asked Steve, looking a

little unpleasant. "Don't you find enough to do? I notice you kept it
very much to yourself!"

132

'c "George knew about it. In any case, I can please myself." She
stood up. "Coffee here or in the lounge?"
 "I'll get it," said George. "Do me a favor. Go into the lounge
with Steve and let me wait on you."

On the point of refusing, she retracted. "All right — if Steve can

bear me."

She went first, walked straight into the window nook and began
arranging a table with a chair on each of its three sides to face the
dark outdoors. It wasn't pitch dark yet, and the lake had a sombre
look, but the moon was already climbing, not yet full but silvery
green and brilliant.

; Steve saw her seated. "I've a promise of some help for

you," he said. "One of the mine chaps has a wife who works in the
chalets near the big hotel. She's free at the jend of the month and
willing to come here for a few weeks."

; 'That's fine. Thank you." The mention of the month's

end stiffened her. "Steve, before George comes ... I'd like a
private word with you some time soon." -
"Heard from your mother?" he asked at once. "No, it's nothing
to do with me, really. But I would
like ..."
 "Straight after coffee," he said quietly, as George came in.
"We'll take a walk."

While they sipped she sat silent. She didn't much fancy the task
ahead, but she would have done much more for George Maxwell.
Without knowing it, he had helped .her

a great deal recently, but even if he hadn't she would have felt
that intrinsically he was worth whatever she
might endure from Steve.

• Something within her shrank from being alone with Steve;

they had hardly been alone at all since that talk with Dick — certainly
for no longer than a minute or two — and the distance between them
had widened infinitely. Partly she herself had been to blame. Had she
followed her usual pattern of behavior she would have told Steve
outright' that she was in no way connected with Dick Nieland and
never would be. But that night his indifference had hurt, and next day
she had realized, objectively, that it might help if he continued to
believe her bound in some way to the Nielands; when she saw

133
 how close he was becoming to Anita, the deception had
bolstered her pride too, and she had gone to lengths to keep aloof
from him.
Steve had no sooner finished his coffee than he stood up. "You
might look out those papers for me, George. I'd like to go through
them before I go out," he said.

George showed astonishment. "I left most of them in the office

at the site. I only brought the calculations."

"They'll do, but I'd like them complete. Would it take you
long?"

"About half an hour. If you're keen, I'll do them right away."

"It would clear things for tomorrow, wouldn't it? Thanks."

George lifted an eyebrow at Tess, as though sharing with her a

lack of comprehension. In leisurely fashion he poured a second cup of
coffee for himself, dropped two cubes of sugar into it and carried it
away to his bed-room. Without speaking, Tess went with Steve into
the stoep, and kept eighteen inches between them as they crossed the
lawn and took one of the paths which ran through the woods, parallel
to the lake.
 The darkness was aromatic and rustling gently. To the left,
between the slender trunks of the pines, the lake was jet black with a
path of plated silver where the moon struck. An owl hooted softly,
there came the screech

of a water bird, the faint put-put of a motor-boat which must be

at least three miles away. Sounds always carried along the lake and
echoed through the hills.
Steve slowed. "Well, what is it — Nieland?"
"No. I told you it wasn't anything personal."
"And Nieland is very personal, of course. I suppose he doesn't
want to see me, so you go to Blue Valley instead." A pause. "What's
on your mind?"

"George," she said baldly. "Before I start, I want you to realize

that I know all the things you'll want to say — that none of this is my
concern, that George is seasoned, that he knows what he's doing ... all
of it. But I still have to get everything said; so I'm going to ask you to
be
patient and hear me through."
"I'm the most patient man on earth," he said laconically

134
 H "We won't argue that point. The fact is, I've had a §|etter from
Roland Kain."

I' "Congratulations."

I "Steve, if you're going to . . ."

I On a faintly savage note he said, "Don't wait for com-

fcments if you don't want them. All right, you've heard from
|Kain."

| She drew in her lip, unconsciously squared her shoulders

|and told him, without referring to Anita, what Roland lhad

written about Frances Brodie. He leaned against a

|tree, heard her out and let a few minutes elapse before jstating:
I "There's not a thing anyone can do. You know that."

I "It seems there must be something," she said. "I can't Jbelieve
that two people who love each other and are free

jto marry can be so stupid as to relinquish their whole jfuture

together without even meeting to discuss things."
 1 "Discussions misfire," he reminded her, with sarcasm.

l"What have they to discuss, anyway? Since George left

I'Vancouver nothing has changed. He's still responsible for

'•Vis sister, and she's still nervy from the sudden tragedy.

; The fact that Anita and Frances don't get along together
iisn't outlandish. Lots of women don't like other women."

." "But is it enough to stop the . . . the friendship between |

George and Frances Brodie? I can't help feeling that

'George hasn't tried to handle the situation at all; he's

: simply accepted it. The whole thing is terribly unfair to

Frances."

"Come, now. Being partisan will get you 'nowhere.

.They're adult people, far more aware of the details of their own
situation than you can possibly be. Has it occurred to you that Frances
is in love with George as he is — not as he might be if she got him
away from his sister? If he left Anita anchorless he wouldn't be a
happy man."

"But he doesn't have to run out on Anita. He'll always be her big
brother — someone she'll be able to depend on, whatever happens.
One can understand Frances feel-ing humiliated, but how can George
bear to hurt her so much? He's not a ... a cruel man."

"Like me?"

135

But Tess had no intention of being drawn into that kind of peril.
"I did hope you'd think of some way of at least keeping Frances
Brodie in Vancouver. Then we might stand a chance of getting
George to see her there some some. I suppose he's hurting himself as,
much as he's hurting Frances, but he finds a bitter satisfaction in doing
what he considers his duty, and she hasn't that

compensation."
"You sound almost wise, young Tess," he remarked
sardonically, "but the wisdom is watered with sentimen-tality. What
do you want me to do — tell George that Frances Brodie is about to
put three thousand miles
 between them?"
"Actually, Frances made Roland promise he wouldn't

tell George. She ... she doesn't want to make a problem of it, I
suppose. But do you think his knowing about it
would do any good?"
"No. I think he'd have another fight with himself, but
stay on here."
"I rather agree." She sighed. "I like George immensely, but
whenever I think of what he's doing to that woman I
could cheerfully bat him with a brick."

There was a brief silence, while both gazed down towards the
water. Then Steve said, "You never look at
it from Anita's angle, do you?"
She cast him a quick glance. "Anita will never lack someone to
take care of her. She'll marry again," keeping her voice very steady,
"perhaps in only about six months. But for George it will be too late."
"Why should it be?"
Her head went up. "Because Frances Brodie has normal pride as
well as a sense of her own worth. If George
waits till Anita has married again before trying to come to an
understanding with Frances, he'll have lost her for
ever." ' |
"How did you work that out?" |
 "Well, I ... in thinking about it I put myself in her |

place. I know she's older, but I feel I can understand | the way
she's reacting. If she can't be more important to j
him than his sister, she'd rather have nothing more to do | with
him. In love and marriage you can't take second j

136

place to a person; maybe you sometimes have to give way to a

man's work, but not to his family."

"Not even when his family is someone small and alone and
defenceless?"

Tess had a sense of something closing in on her. She felt him as

someone hostile, who shared none of her
reactions or emotion. She stood still, the light of the filtered
moon touching her skin to whiteness.
Finally she said, "Well, I've done as Ronald asked. May I have a
cigarette?"
"So it's a habit now. Do you like smoking?"
"Not much. Thanks."
She slipped the cigarette between her lips and waited while he
took one for himself. He struck a match and held it cupped between
them. In the island of light her soft blue eyes glistened, and then she
drew back from it and blew smoke.

"The core of the whole situation," he said deliberately, "is the

dislike that the two women have for each other. I once mentioned it to
Anita, and she honestly didn't know why Frances had taken such a
stubborn stand."

Anita wouldn't, but Tess did. She said carefully, "There's the
principle involved. You know Frances; can you imagine that she'd be
in love with George and horrid to his sister — just for kicks?"

"There's no telling how a woman thinks," be said abruptly.

"George's mind is simple and straightforward,

compared with any woman's. He's slow about everything, but

transparent He loves Frances Brodie and he loves his sister, but
Frances is independent, thirty and a nurse, while Anita is a very
uncertain and sometimes unhappy young widow. It was a case of his
having to decide which needed him most. He didn't consider himself
at all."

"I think his decision was weak." She looked away from him.
"What would you have done in his situation?"
 ' "I'd never find myself in that position," he said cynically.
"He's known Frances several years now and been in love with her
practically the whole time. That couldn't possibly happen to me. I'd
have married her or finished with her within a year."

Yes, he would; Tess didn't doubt that. But she asked, "Would
you ever allow anything or anyone to come

between you and . . . and someone you loved enough

to marry?" Then, in a flash, she remembered. "I'm sorry. I forgot
you did love a girl once."

The lines of his face had hardened and his smile was not too
pleasant. "Let's leave me out of it. You're trying hard, for George's
sake, but I'm not convinced that he wants things any different."

"He often looks worn — he's not a happy man."

"Who is?" The cynicism was back in his voice. "None of us has
romance served up with just the trimmings we'd choose. George's
case may be a little different from most, but he gets along."

Shatteringly, in that moment, Tess knew that Steve loved Anita,

really loved her; and though he wanted her and would no doubt
ultimately have her, he '"hated the fact that another man had her first.
Steve Fenner, in love with a woman who knew something about
marriage, some-one who needed no sweet tuition, no gently guiding,
no jollying through the first awkward intimacies of marriage. How
he'd hate that! In the moment of discovery Tess was blinded by pain
and fright.
She pulled hard on the cigarette, moistened lips which
felt hot and dry. Presently she managed, "I had to speak
to you about it, but we'd better forget it. Even if you agreed
to help Frances in some way . . . what could you do?
George wouldn't change his mind."
With cool mockery he said, "But I'd be surprised if you didn't
have some sort of scheme in your pretty head. What is it?"

She shrugged. "I only thought of inviting Frances here for a

farewell. But she wouldn't come."
"Of course not."
"And if we got George to Vancouver they might refuse to see
each other, though I don't think George would.
Do you think it could be arranged for him to go there without
Anita? Anita would be quite happy here with you."

He looked at her with eyes that had gone as cold and bright as
steel. "I'll give it some thought," he said curtly.
 "And while we're alone, I'll give you some advice too. Don't kid
yourself that your intelligence and occasional wisdom entitle you to
assume that you know everything

138

about everyone you meet. You may have learned a good deal
about Dickie-boy and even a little about George Maxwell, but that's
the total of your knowledge of men. Remember that!"

She pushed back her hair with a hand that trembled slightly.
"Why? What did I say?"

'Too much. Let's go back." But as she turned to retrace her steps
his hand brushed her shoulder, to detain her.

He sounded a little taut as he added, "Don't attempt any-thing

yourself. I may try and get down to Vancouver on Saturday, but I
shan't tell anyone that's where I'm bound for. Just keep quiet about the
whole thing, and leave it to me."

"Oh, Steve! I did hope you'd say something like that. You don't
know how . . ."
 "That's enough. I'm being a fool about this, and the last thing I
want is gratitude. If you're right about Frances, my seeing her won't
do a scrap of good."
"But if you could take George . . ."

"I've thought of that too. Just leave it for now. And, honey . . ."

"Yes?" she asked tremulously.'

"For Pete's sake try, some time, to forget Garth House, George
and Frances Brodie and even young Nieland, and take a long deep
look into yourself. I'll wager a year's salary that you'll discover you're
not the girl you always thought you were!" There was an ironic twist
to his mouth as he ended, "I've already seen part of you that you're not
even slightly aware of."
"That's a bit frightening."

"Don't worry, little one — I've got right out of the experimental
mood. Stop thinking about George." He pushed her gently, to make
her walk with him. "Have you decided exactly what you'll buy with
the barbecue profits?"

"Just clothes. It's a long time since I bought any." "Get

something blue. And don't be misled into having
your hair trimmed; it suits you this way."
 She didn't look up. "Why do you say nice things in a biting
tone?"
"Probably because I don't want to say them at all."

139

"We ... we don't really get along, do we — you and I? We

exasperate each other."

"That's a mild and friendly way of phrasing it," he said, "but on

the whole we're not mild and friendly people, either of us. You're not
mild, honey — nothing milk-and-water about you! It may enlighten
you a little to know that I've never been so fed up with anyone as I've
occasionally been with you."

"Me too," she sighed. "I'll be glad when all this is over and I'm
on my way back to England."

They had covered the rest of the path in silence and were
entering the garden when he asked, "Sorry I came
to Garth House?"
Tess wasn't sure. She hesitated, and apparently that
 was sufficient answer. Steve took the steps in one stride, said a
cool "So long", and crossed the lounge towards the
stairs.
The next evening, just after dinner, Steve said he'd be
away for the week-end — had to pay a duty call on an old
fishing companion. Anita playfully suggested that the

old friend was a past flame, and George declined an invitation to

accompany Steve.

However, it seemed that the two men talked it over privately, for
on Saturday morning the two of them got into the estate car, waved to
Anita at her bedroom win-dow and said goodbye to Tess. Tess had
tried to get Steve alone for a moment, but he had appeared equally
intent on avoiding it. She searched George's face, decided

he looked a bit heavy and serious but nothing more. "You and
Anita will be all right, won't you?'" he
asked anxiously.
"Perfectly. Have a good time, you two."
"And don't forget to keep the place locked up after dark," was
Steve's injunction. "I've told our foreman to come over and have a
good look round at midnight."
 "I've slept here quite alone," said Tess. "It's safe as the Bank of
Montreal."

George smiled faintly. "As a born and bred Canadian, Steve

ought to thank' you for the compliment. I'm sure
you almost said the Bank of England."

The car moved off, Tess went indoors and cleared away the
breakfast things. Surprisingly, Anita came down before

140

ten. She was wearing a cream tailored suit with a scarlet

neckerchief and she carried a white pigskin suitcase.

"I didn't tell the men because they'd have fussed," she said, "but
I've been invited down to the Gregorys for the day. We'll be yachting
most of the time, and they have a party tonight, so I shall probably be
invited to sleep there. If I stay the night, I shan't be back till tomorrow
afternoon." The predatory topaz eyes were slanted at Tess. "You'll
make money out of us all this week-end, you lucky doll."

She sped away in the scarlet convertible, and for the first time in
a month Tess could look forward to a com-plete day, or even longer,
of her own company. Momen-tarily, she wondered how Anita would
have acted had she known where her brother had gone. And then
Anita didn't
matter any more.
Tess would have liked to know what Steve had planned, how far
George was in his confidence. She would have. liked to know how
Frances Brodie was feeling now, and whether her spirits had yet
fallen low enough for her to capitulate. Just a fraction of yielding on
one side might alter the whole outlook for Frances and George.
Though whatever might be decided this week-end, there was' still
Anita.

Tess worked hard in the house the whole morning. She

determined not to cook at all for herself, and for lunch she took a
picnic down to the edge of the lake. After it, she went out in the
canoe, and automatically bailed and dreamed along the quiet waters.
between the fir-covered banks of this narrower part of the lake. She
smelled spruce and hemlock and damp leaves, knew that she would
miss the scents and the vast peacefulness when she left Kenegan. She
bathed, dried out on the
grass and then was caught in a heavy shower.
If it hadn't rained that evening she would never have gone 'into
Anita's room to close the window and pick up the programs and
snapshots which the wind had swept from the dressing-table; and she
would never have seen the photograph of Steve in riding kit. He had
been

snapped leaning against a stone wall, his Stetson pushed back,

his smile enigmatic. On the back of the snap were three words "Love
from Steve".

141

CHAPTER EIGHT

BY Sunday afternoon Tess was chafing a little and wishing the

two men would turn up. Anita came back, got into black shorts and an
emerald sweater and curled up in

the corner of the couch with some glossy magazines. She didn't
want any food, said she made a practice of eating no more than one
lean meal in the course of a day; hadn't Tess noticed?

"You need more," Tess said. "Supposing you were suddenly

called upon to meet some physical strain — you'd find you haven't
much stamina."
 Anita lifted her slender black eyebrows, looked amused "I don't
go in for pursuits that demand brawn. What are
men for, anyway?"
"Just sitting there you could catch a cold," Tess
reminded her.

"I don't get colds and I never take risks. I keep thoroughly
healthy on a scrap of food and vitamin
tablets."
"But what do you get out of being so thin to make up for the
things you have to go without? What is your waist
measurement — twenty?"
"Nineteen. Yours must be twenty-three or four." "About that —
it's at least a year since I was last measured. But I'm too active to have
superfluous weight."

"Well, I happen to be indolent by nature and I honestly don't

care about food. You know, I've only to walk into a room to rouse
interest and the protective instinct. I don't know any other woman
who can do that."

"Well, if it's what you want," said Tess vaguely. "There's only
one thing about my appearance that dis-
satisfies me."
"Really?" Tess surveyed her. "I can't see a single detail
 that's wrong."
Petulantly, Anita shook back her thick dark hair. "I'd have loved
to be a genuine blonde. I wouldn't even

consider becoming a synthetic one, but if I'd had true blonde

coloring I'd have got right out of this colonial

142

atmosphere and into Europe's upper ten. I could have done it

easily."

An odd ambition, thought Tess. It didn't occur to her at all that

Anita actually coveted something possessed by Tess Harvey. She
didn't even notice the venom in the glance Anita slanted at the pale,
slightly-waving hair.

"I wish the men would come," she said. "What am I to do about
dinner?"

Anita grimaced and returned to her magazine. "They'll settle for

ham and eggs. Men always do."
 She was right. Steve and George got back at dusk, put
conventional inquiries and gave conventional replies to Anita's
questions. Steve said the fishing had been good, George smiled and
said nothing; the week-end was over.

The men ate supper in the kitchen, George lit his pipe and went
into the lounge while Steve took a look at the electric pump, which
had been acting up again. Tess went out to the little pump-house,
wedged herself into a dark comer. For several minutes she watched
Steve who, on his haunches, was tinkering by torchlight with the
pressure
gauge.

Then she asked, "I suppose I'm permitted to know what

happened?"

"You know nearly as much about it as I do," he said. "On the

way down I told George I was bound for Salmon Creek to do some
fishing. I said if he liked I'd drop him in Vancouver and pick him up
after lunch today. He thought it over and said he'd like to do that. I left
him

in the centre of town, and picked him up at the same spot today.
That's all."
"Didn't you . . . talk to him about Frances Brodie?"
 "No, honey, I didn't. That's his business."
"Then how do we know . . ."

"We don't, and maybe we can't even guess. All I can say is that
George likes fishing more than I do, and he'd have
gone with me if there hadn't been something more im-
portant on his mind."
"Do you think he saw Frances?"
"There was no indication, one way or the other."
"Well, why didn't you . . ." Blinding torchlight illuminat-ing her
face cut off the sentence before it was shaped. "Don'tl"

143

At once the beam was lowered, and Steve had straight-ened. "I
did that to stop you getting heated over some-thing that's already
caused a lot of trouble. I'll do what

I can for George, but I'm damned if I'll put point-blank questions
about his love affairs. I refuse to mention Frances before he mentions
her himself."

"But how are we to know what's happening?"

 "We can't know unless he chooses to tell us, and he won't do
that. Personally, I don't want to know."

Tess felt keyed up, and angry at his detachment. "Why? Do

other people's love tangles remind you of your own?"

He snapped off the flashlight and said deliberately, into the

darkness, "You could be right there, little one. As I've said before, you
know very little about men. But there's one thing you can leam right
now. When you take a stab at a man's emotions you're liable to touch
off dynamite. That could even go for me, as well as for
George."
Too late, Tess realized he was talking about present emotions,
whereas she had alluded to that other woman, a few years ago; the
one who had married someone else.

"I'm sony," she said, and for a placating instant her fingers lay
on his sleeve. But she felt his withdrawal, and dropped her hand to her
side. "You see, I've been think-ing about George all the week-end,
and hoping."
"All the week-end?" with crisp satire. "Even when y
were with Dickie-boy?"
"How did you know I went to Blue Valley?"
"I didn't know. I thought that seeing I'd gone away, Nieland
might have come to Garth House."
 "I ... didn't tell him you weren't here."
"No?" mockingly. "I'm sure you're not afraid of your
fiance. How is he getting along?"
She steeled herself to give nothing away. "Why ask?
You don't care."

He sounded acid. "I can't care about everyone. I chased all the
way to Vancouver for your sake. D'you realize
that?"
"I hoped you'd done it for George."

"That was secondary, because I still consider George capable of

handling his own problems. That was why I wouldn't tell him Frances
was preparing to leave British

144

Columbia. I togk him to Vancouver so that he'd be alone there

— no Anita to consider, not a thing to prevent his having a good time
with Frances if he wanted it. But I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't
begged me to. You have a knack," in cynical tones, "of making a man
act occasionally against his common sense. See that you don't misuse
it."
 She answered him quietly. "I seem to say the wrong things, don't
I? If I. hadn't been fond of George . . ."

"Skip it," he said brusquely. "And next time you hear from Kain
I'll reply to him for you. Go on in — the nights are getting chilly."
"Not as chilly as you are."
A short silence. Then; "What did you expect? Did you think
we'd bring Frances back with us? Don't be more naive than you can
help!"
"Oh, nuts!" she said crossly, and left him.

During the next day or two she watched George more closely,
thought that perhaps he did look less weary, and yet could not be sure.
He was sweet to Anita, looked pleased when she went out with Steve,
and set himself out to give Tess as good a time as could be managed
in the small town of Pelton.
Tess received a letter from her mother. The offer for
Garth House, Mrs. Harvey wrote, was quite exciting,
but she had been very much concerned to hear about Mr.
Nieland's collapse. After much thought, she decided that
a heart case would welcome something to think about,
and she had set out the details of Mr. Fenner's offer in
a letter to Mr. Nieland in Calgary and was now awaiting
his reply. As soon as she received it she would write again
to Tess.
 "Take care of yourself, dear," she ended. "I'm so glad Dick is
there to help you with the boiler fire and the maintenance. We both
know how difficult it is to run the place without a man."

Without comment, Tess gave the letter to Steve. He read it and

passed it back. And for ,the time being that was that.

Life went almost flat at Garth House. Anita suggested that she
and Steve might give a barbecue for their friends, but Steve dissented
and said he would prefer to invite

145

people to a dinner and dance over at Lake Kenegan Hotel

. . . but there was no hurry. ,.,-

Then one evening, offhandedly, Steve told Tess that George had
had a letter from Frances. It had been among the company mail and
he himself had handed it over to George. Just slightly, George had
betrayed himself; no doubt at all that he'd been hppmg for such a
letter. Tess drew a deep sigh and smiled a little shakily.
 "If only it's the right sort of letter. What was he like
afterwards?"
"Deadpan, but not downcast."

"Oh, dear. Couldn't you just mention it to him?" "No, I

couldn't," he said savagely, and walked out: Another flat day passed,
and yet Tess knew a sense of

approaching climax. Things just couldn't go on in this way.

There was George, guarding his private life with a slight, comradely
smile, Anita getting bored and therefore tigerish because for her
things were happening too slowly, and Steve looking more poker-
faced than George could ever achieve while his eyes were like chips
of grey ice. No more news from Roland, and the only indication that
Dick Nieland still considered himself responsible for Tess Harvey
was a large basket of produce delivered by a Blue Valley cowhand.

Then, one morning, came the expected letter from Mrs. Harvey.
Tess had picked it up in town and read it while seated at the wheel of
the Buick. Her mother had heard from Mr. Nieland and was happy to
announce that he agreed to Mr. Fenner's offer for Garth House. All
the necessary papers would have to be sent to Calgary for his
signature, as her proxy, and it might take some time, but as Mr.
Fenner was a guest at Garth House, Tess would no doubt find it quite
easy to explain all this. Un-fortunately, Mrs. Harvey stated, she
herself had little ready money, but perhaps Tess would be able to save
enough from her present income for her fare home. The money from
the sale of Garth House would probably

go straight into the Warwickshire fruit farm; "it will be both an

investment and an interest, and it will ensure that we always have a
home in a place we love."

Tess pushed the letter into her pocket, started up the car and
drove towards the lake. She ought really to go

146

gtraight over to Blue Valley and tell Dick, but she was
jjbeginning to shrink from his dogged, suffering expression

jand from Mrs. Lesley's blatant dislike. Each, in an ^individual

way, was blaming Tess for not wanting to

jtoarry into the Nieland family. Had there ever been a |proposal
or even the suggestion of one before Dick had

jgone away with his father Tess would have understood, jand
minded less. But there had been nothing except a
 jfairly close friendliness which had been founded more ^on Mr.
Nieland's affection for Mrs. Harvey than on

janything else. Dick certainly hadn't contemplated marriage |tUl

he had known about his father's will. No, she couldn't
grace Dick this morning; with one thing and another she jwas
feeling decidely ragged.

t She parked the old car in the bam, crossed the yard

|and went up into the lounge. No sign of Anita, but it ?was only
ten-thirty. Tess hesitated, decided to get into a
|frock and go back to tov/n to do some personal shopping.

?She ran lightly up the stairs, reached the upper corridor |just as
Anita slipped from George's room into her own. |Anita couldn't have
heard her ... or could she?

j; Tess entered her own room, got out of her jeans and cshirt,
washed and put on a plain powder-blue linen she jhad not worn much.
She brushed her hair, used a rub jof lipstick, found a white purse and
packed into it all the poney she had saved. She had stepped into a pair
of jplam white shoes when Anita came in, without knocking. Anita,
with flames in the yellow eyes and an uncontrol-lable twitch at her
dark red lips, her hand an obvious fist in the pocket of her white
brocade housecoat.

There was a moment of dead quiet during which Tess's

nerves contracted defensively and Anita's narrowed, violent

glance swept over the blue-eyed, blonde Tess.

Anita spoke first, in a hoarse whisper that was nothing like her
usual childish tones. "I suppose you think you
look cute as Christmas," she said. "You think you're a

smartie, getting yourself up to go to town on the quiet. But

before you get moving I've a few things to say to you, you sly little
lynx!"

Inwardly frightened but outwardly cool, Tess said, "Oh, come,

Anita. Don't be absurd. What is it now?"
"Don't come the superior miss with me! Since you

147
 went out an hour or so ago I've learned a few things that I'm sure
you had a finger in. It was you who persuaded George to go down to
Vancouver last week-end!"

"I certainly didn't. Did he tell you that?"

'"He didn't have to." She swung about, stared at the. balcony and
back at Tess. If her mouth hadn't twitched so uncannily she would
have looked merely angry; as it was, she appeared a bit ... crazy. "I've
just read a letter of his — from another one like you, only she's older
and more dangerousl"
Tess took a fresh grip on herself. The moment of shock had
passed and now she merly had to be careful what she said. Nothing
provocative if she could help it, but nothing

palliative, either.

"Do you usually read your brother's letters?" she asked. "I read
those that concern me — and this one did!" "Does George know?"

"He does not — and you're not going to tell him. He locks his
private things away in the top drawer of the chest in his room, but in
this place where the furniture
 is ordinary, every key fits every lock. I've seen the photo-graph
of Frances, the letter she wrote him months ago saying she wouldn't
see him with me — it had be alone! When we came here she stopped
writing; I knew that too. I haven't looked in that drawer for weeks!"

"And what made you pry this morning?"

The word was unfortunate. Anita's small white teeth were

almost closed and very evident as she answered, "I have a right to
know everything that happens between George and that woman. In
the new letter she says it was lovely to see him ..." a high-pitched, off-
key laugh, "and that she's thinking everything over once again. She
says
... she thanks heaven for whatever it was that made George go
down to Vancouver. He didn't tell her it was
you!"

"Why should you think I might have influenced him?" Anita's

nostrils were flaring and white. "I know your
type. I've been fighting it ever since Frances came to

our house to nurse my mother, many years ago. But you're a lot
younger than she is, and I didn't think you'd be so tricky. I knew
George liked taking you out, but I could also see that if he feels
anything for you at all it's just a
 148

jbrotheriy kindness. But he listens to you, doesn't he? He ^hints

at his problems and you're flattered into advising |him to ignore me!"
She paused, breathing hard. "I'll tell jyou why I looked into that
drawer this morning. I know

: George as I know my own face. Since last week-end he's

been different — only vaguely, but enough to make me

..suspicious. Then suddenly, last night, he laughed out ;loud."

She was trembling now. "You didn't notice it,-of course. Nor did
Steve. But I notice everything about George, everything'. He hasn't
laughed aloud for months, and there's only one person who could
make him feel

: lighthearted enough to do it now. I knew he must have

heard from Frances, and at the first opportunity I ...
I pried, as you call it!"

Tess dropped her white purse into a chair, stood negli-gently

between the chair and the door. With studied casual-ness, she asked,
"Anita, why don't you want George to marry?"
 "He told you that?".
"No. I've gathered it."

; Anita's tongue stole out to moisten the dark red lips. t"I do
want him to many, of course I do. But not that jwoman who snaked
her way into our household and made |;a direct play for him."

| "You admit that even hearing from her makes him

jhappy. Isn't that more important than anything — that the

should be happy?"

I: "That's the way she used to talk before I was married.

|After I'd settled down with Larry I used to write to peorge, tell him
how she was carrying on while he was |away on contracts. ..."

|; "Oh, Anita, I'm sure that wasn't true!"

; "It was!" She almost shrieked it. "I saw her out with ;men
myself. And Steve once took her out. He told me." | "He's George's
friend. He probably had messages for her from George."

; "You've an answer for everything, haven't you? You hate me.

You hate me so much that when Steve told us fee fancied some
fishing you persuaded him to invite George and take, him to
Vancouver! You want George to Hump me in a hotel somewhere and
go off with that ^voman." There was a clammy whiteness in her face
as

t 149

she shook her head, a glazed look in her eyes. "He's never going
to do that. Nothing in this world would make
George desert me. Nothing."
Tess's impulse was to push the other girl down into a chair and
make her listen to some sense; but she realized that Anita was past all
that, had been past it for a long time. Somehow, this clinging to
George had become an obsession with her. Perhaps he was the only
person in her whole life who had been willing to sacrifice himself for
her, and fiercely she was determined to keep him till ...

till she had Steve? Tess felt an icy tremor run through her body.
Would Steve marry this girl if he could see her now? Probably. He'd
set about making a whole and happy woman of her.

Through dry lips she said, "If you loved George you'd want his
happiness. He's already given up several years of marriage for you,
and you haven't the right to demand more of him. Supposing he loses
Frances now — and you marry again within a year. He'll be alone, but
you won't care."
 "He'll be better off without Frances, anyway! And you mind
your own affairs and leave me to look after mine.
If you say one word about this to George . . ."

"Don't fret. I wouldn't say anything to upset him." "Oh, no,

you're an angel! Well, I'm not. And I'm not
blind, either. I've seen you creep out and speak with
Steve in the porch, or follow him to the shed. And in
private I've laughed my head off at the way he treats
you. He couldn't be less impressed by that blonde feathery
hair and the big blue eyes. He told me himself that he
thinks most blondes are dopes."
"We were speaking of George," Tess reminded her wit an effort.
"Why can't you just talk things over with him,
rationally, find out how he feels?"

"George! That's all you can yammer about. Are you afraid to
discuss Steve?" The glassy yellow eyes were stari

now. "You really are keen on him, aren't you, my poor pink-
and-white idiot? What a laugh that is! And you've decided to splash
out on new clothes." She stopped
abruptly, gazed at the powder-blue frock. "Is that where you're
going now? To the shops? To doll up for Steve?"
"Anital What's got into you?"
 150

"Don't you realize that I've only been able to endure you because
you look like something from the backwoodsl If you start mincing
about in ..."

She lunged across the room and snatched up the white envelope
purse, glared a challenge to Tess to come and get it. Tess stood very
still, her left wrist hard against the tumultuous hammering of her
heart. She couldn't have touched Anita just then had her life depended
on it.
But she was able to say, "You're being very childish,
Anita. I have to buy clothes before I can travel home to
England."

"No kidding? You've got a few frocks — plenty good

enough for a tourist passenger. I'll return your money on the day
we part company!"

"I warn you, Anita. I'll go to George."

 "You'll go to George! Who do you think you are? Do you
suppose he'd believe you if I denied everything? You're mad!"
The final word was practically a scream, as she tore

open the purse and dragged out the dollar bills. Frenziedly, she
took the bunch into one hand and flung the purse into a corner. Then,
while Tess watched her with a horrified fascination, the thin silver-
tipped fingers tore the bills to shreds and sent into a shower over the
bed and out of the balcony window. A few strips fluttered
in the breeze before they disappeared.

: The next moment Anita had slammed from the room. Then
the thud of her bedroom door shook the house
and there was a mighty crash inside the room. Tess
swayed out into the corridor, curled her fingers into palms
which were slippery with sweat and gathered the

courage to open the other girl's door. Anita was face

downwards, sobbing, on the bed, and near the foot of
it lay fragments of the heavy old mahogany-framed

mirror which had stood upon the chest. For a long, sicken-ing
moment Tess stared at that thin form in the white
 wrap, shaking and banging fists into the pillow. Then she quietly
gathered the glass and shattered frame, put them into a waste basket
which she carried from the room.

Almost without thinking she got into slacks and a blouse, and
collected the scraps of the torn bills. As one
does in moments of stress, she thought inconsequentially;

151

Anita's fingers must be quite strong — she'd really made sure

the money would never be used again. But because

it went entirely against the grain to throw away even shredded

dollar bills, Tess dropped the dozens of pieces into an old envelope
and shoved it into the bedside

table drawer.

Inevitably, she went straight downstairs and made some tea, set
about baking plenty of cakes and a sponge sand- ' wich for the men
tonight. She felt cold and drained, and was not a bit surprised to see
that the sky had become overcast and a drizzle had started. The
weather was just right, couldn't have been a better match for her
mood.

Anita did not come down all day and Tess did not go out. The
rain came faster, the yard filled with puddles, the lake became
obscured by a grey curtain which Tess watched despondently from
the lounge window. At five

she went to the kitchen and began preparations for dinner. A

quarter of an hour later the men arrived home in the estate car and,
miraculously, Anita came running merrily down to meet them. Tess
heard her, shook a head that ached and set the vegetables to cook. An
easy dinner tonight; lamb cutlets, green peas, potatoes and grilled
tomatoes with the sandwich and small cakes "to follow.
The soup was canned mushroom.

George, with Anita hovering behind him, brought Tess a drink,

something that tasted like dry sherry. She thanked

him, told him dinner would be ready soon after six and there
was plenty of hot water if he'd like a bath. He smiled and whistled
tunelessly as he left her and went upstairs.

At no time during that evening was she alone with eithe of the
men. Anita saw to that. There was the command from Steve that Tess
eat with them, and her refusal; his tight-lipped insistence and her mute
shake of the head.

He had looked at her pale face and shadowed eyes, clamped his
teeth and let her please herself.

Later, while the radio played in the lounge, Anita had crept into
the kitchen. She was brilliant-eyed and white-
faced, vibrant with nerves.

Tess," she whispered, "I can't forgive myself for the way I
behaved this morning. That's why I stayed away

from you. I was so ashamed. I'll repay the money tomorro

morning. What was it — about sixty dollars? I'll give you

152

a hundred. Don't say anything to the men. You . . . you

promise?"

"I won't say anything."

"The things I said — they were so ridiculous. I guess I was too
steamed up to know what I was doing. I'll buy
 a new mirror — a really good one. And I'll give you the hundred
dollars."
"Just fifty."
"You're proud; I know that. All right. I'll give you the fifty, and
I'll make you a present of a really smart outfit."
"You don't have to buy my silence, Anita. I've no wish to upset
the men. Let's forget it."
"You're sweet, Tess. I'll make it up to you."

She looked tiny and forlorn; Tess was torn between pity and
distrust. "Stop worrying about it," she said. "To-morrow's a new day."
Something flickered in the topaz eyes, something disturb-

ing. Then it was gone and Anita was just a tired girl again,
contrite and appealing. "Yes, I think I've had enough of today," she
said in thin tones. "I'm going to bed." But she did not move at once.
"Tess, let me go with you to buy your things tomorrow. Will you?"
"If you want it very much."
"I want us to know each other better. We've been here
together for some weeks, but we don't understand each other at
all. Maybe it's my fault. I've just gone off with
other people when we might have had some good times
— the two of us. It'll be fun to go shopping with someone like
you. I've awfully good taste in dress, you know."
 "We'll decide in the morning." "You're a pet. Good night."
Tess answered her, set the breakfast table and decided to go to
bed herself. In the back haU she hesitated. Better not to behave any
differently from other nights. She went into the lounge, where the two
men were immersed in some outsize sketches.

"I'm going up. The back door is locked. Will you see to the
front?"

"Sure," said George.

Steve was standing, looking cool but watchful. "You all right?
"Yes, of course."

153

"You looked washed out."

"It's the rain. Oh, by the way, I've had a letter from my mother.
She agrees to everything, but Mr. Nieland has to sign for her. So it
will take time. Shall I leave you to get
in touch with an attorney?"
"Yes. It had better be a local firm who know the set-up. You'll
have to go with me, to give whatever personal
 details about your mother they may require. I'll ax an'
appointment for Saturday morning."

"Very well. Good night."

George said, "Good night, Tess."

But Steve went with her to the foot of the stairs. "You're sure
there's nothing wrong?"
"Quite sure."
"Why did you get all tensed up when I asked you to
eat with us this evening?"
"The weather again, I suppose."
"I don't believe it. Have you been thinking about that letter from
your mother and wishing you'd never passed on my offer? Maybe
you're wishing you'd sold outright to

someone else. Is that it?"

"No, it isn't."
She looked up at him, her face pinched and defenceless, and
almost instinctively his hand went out, to take her arm. But she drew
back swiftly to avoid his touch, and started up the stairs. She heard his
sharp-drawn breath, saw glittering grey eyes and a jutting jaw; and the
next moment she was bounding up the staircase, away from him. But
in her room she felt spent. What a ,day. What
a peach of a day!
 Next morning the sun was out again and the lake looked
seductively calm. Tess'looked and felt more normal, and she actually
ate some toast and had coffee with

the men before they left for North Tucket. If Steve looked at her
it was only fleetingly. His whole demeanor
was remote and preoccupied.

Anita rose early; she was downstairs by a quarter to ten, looking

small and lovely in a thin, gaily patterned

sweater and a pencil-slim white skirt. She had just the figure for
zippy sports wear, and the noisy charm bracelet on a thin wrist
somehow enhanced the effect of casual beauty. She appeared to have
not a care in the world.

154

"I've put the money in your room," she said. "Shall we go

shopping this morning?"

"I think I'll leave it a day or two."

 "Don't you want me to go with you?" she asked in gentle,
injured tones.

"I don't mind, but not' today. You almost look dressed for
yachting."

"No, I fancied something bright. Tess, couldn't we do something

together . . . please? The water might be too cold for bathing, but we
could take a picnic along the lake. Do you know the islands at all?"

"Yes, but it's rather far to go in the canoe, and the lake there is
swift-running."

"The canoe isn't much good, of course, but it would take us as

far as 'the landing stage where those friends of mine live. We could tie
up there and use one of, their motor-boats. It's such a delicious day,
and I do so want
us to ... well, give ourselves a chance of becoming real pals. I
may not look it, but I'm pretty good on a picnic,

and I can handle an outboard motor too. Please let's go, Tess."

Tess could think up no valid grounds for refusal. The sky was
blue, the lake inviting, and a day away from Garth House in Anita's
company might work wonders for George. Not that she had any wish
to reopen dis-cussion about George and Frances. But if one could
under-

•• stand Anita, get under that little-girl selfishness and find

out whether a real woman did exist there, George might, in the long
run, benefit to some extent.
"We'll try it," she said. "I'U cut some sandwiches."
"Two starch-free biscuits, a finger of cheese and some ice-cold
skimed milk for me, please!"

Tess felt she wouldn't want much more than that herself. She
filled a small tin, added a couple of apples, a flask of coffee and
another of milk to the basket, and Anita was ready.
They locked the door and went down to the canoe. The air was
warm, almost too warm for the old crew-neck jersey Tess wore, but
when she had pushed out to the

center of the lake there was a breeze that found its way ; through
the wool in exhilarating little gusts.
There is a knack in handling a light canoe. As Tess

155
 wielded the paddle now she remembered trying to learn the art,
and even capsizing a few times. Without any

form of steerage but the paddle itself, one was apt to turn in
circles and rock perilously till the knack came, sud-

denly and excitingly. After that, it was difficult to go wrong.

This morning she sat facing Anita, who looked

like a thin, eager little girl whose only desire was to please.
Anita bailed regularly, pointed excitedly to some small creature that
swam ashore and disappeared among the bracken, told tales of
raccoons and buck beaver-holes.

The Sake widened and the majestic firs receded. Behind them,
the blue line of mountains was clear-cut against

the sky, and Tess recalled that always, whenever she saw those
crags from this point, she had vowed that one day she would climb
one of them and get a really good view of the Rockies beyond. It had
always been a bit of a disap-

pointment that on the train journey across Canada to British

Columbia they had passed almost completely
 through the Rockies in darkness. But it was too late now. She
would have to hope for better luck on the return
journey.

Out here where there was no shelter a strong breeze was

blowing, stirring the lake into white ruffles and speed-ing the canoe
on its way. Tess made for the bank again, found warmth and calm.
They drifted along the shore, discovering tiny pools where water-liles
grew, exploring inlets where pines created dim green tunnels. There
was the piney smell, the secret movements of small furry things

which were half land and half water creatures.

Anita talked as Tess had never heard her talk before. About a
coastal village where she had often spent a holiday as a child, about
snow-covered hills that always looked

'blue in the afternoon light, about hayrides and game-shooting

and country fairs. Childhood days was the recurrent theme; Anita
must have had a deep and deadly
aversion to growing up.
They found a rocky little spot which, Anita declared, was just
right for their picnic. When she discovered there
was no need for a fire she looked crestfallen. .
 "That's one thing I do well. Fire-fingers, Larry always called me,
because I could always start one, even with
damp wood. Isn't there anything at all I can do?"

156

"You can steady the canoe while I tie it up. This is a rather
peculiar place, you know. There's a current pulling at the boat Can
you see?"
"It's because we're not so very far from the rapids," Anita said
carelessly. "Actually, the Gregorys live very close to this spot and I've
been here often. You can reach their house up there, through the
trees."

Tess looked up at the slimy ledges of rock and grimaced. "I'd

sooner take the long way round to the landing stage." She made the
canoe very secure and pointed down the lake. "Look, you can just see
the outline of the first island.
I do hope we can borrow the motor-boat."

"We'll get it," Anita said confidently. "I could even take it
without asking, but perhaps I hadn't better. May I
have my biscuits and cheese?"
Tess gave her a plastic plate with the ration she had
 requested, took a crabmeat sandwich for herself and lay back on
a mixture of stones and grass. The atmosphere

was tranquil. Water lapped lazily among the stones, and if she
turned her head she could see the tall pines throng-ing the side of the
lake. Just above them there was a

tower of rock, but it slanted backwards as if it were resting

among the trees. Tess didn't remember ever having seen it before, but
perhaps she had missed it bcause from the lake it would be obscured
by branches.
For one who had lived for several years at Garth House she
knew surprisingly little about the shores of Lake Kenegan. She had
bathed from their own beach, canoed across the narrow stretch at the
head of the lake, found the nearer bays and fished mid-lake with her
father. But she had never investigated the waters near the lakeside
houses; had never really had time to idle down towards the islands.
This was by way of being a treat, and it was

wrong to regret that her companion had to be Anita Vance. No

doubt about it, Anita was doing her utmost to make

amends for yesterday. She was chummy without being blatant,

helpful in small ways without seeming to placate. She offered
cigarettes, flicked a diamond-studded lighter. They smoked, and didn't
bother to talk. Ducks flapped

past no more than a dozen feet above the lake, a buzzard cried
harshly but did not show itself. At last Tess looked
at her watch.

157

"It's just on two. I have to get back by five, Anita."

A sigh. "I feel lazy, but we'd better move. There's still time to
take a quick run down to the first island. Tell you what, Tess. You go
round to the landing stage in the canoe, and I'll climb up and get
permission to use the outboard motor-boat. I'll be waiting at the
landing stage for you."
"Is the house as close as that?"
"It's just up there — the trees hide it. You'll have to paddle well
out and round the bend. It's not more than half a mile, but don't keep
close to the bank because it's

rocky. Just arrow straight out to deep water till you see the
landing stage, and then make for it. You can't miss it."
 "But are you sure it will be easier for you to go this way? You
could just as well go with me. I wouldn't mind waiting at the landing
stage while you go up to the house."

"This is quicker." Anita was untying the canoe. "I'll

push you out and then go straight up."
"But that rocky climb, Anita!"
"I've been up there before. There's plenty of growth to cling to
on the way up." She laughed. "I've no intention of breaking my neck.
Life's too promising." She threw the rope into the canoe, stood there
till Tess had taken her seat in it and then shoved. "There you go. Bet
you ten
dollars I'll beat you to it!"
Almost automatically, at the challenge, Tess began vigor ously
to paddle. There were ten feet between the canoe and the shore,
twenty, thirty. Then she stopped moving and anxiously watched
Anita's white buckskin shoes on the wet ledges of rock. The girl was
mounting carefully and steadily, which was not at all what one might
have

expected of Anka. She gained the top slab, held on to a branch

and turned and waved. Tess waved back, watched
her disappear among the green growth.
 Then, with a sickening jolt, Tess realized the canoe was moving
down the lake at an appalling speed. She applied the paddle as a
brake, swerved dangerously, but found that to some extent it worked.
Rocks or no rocks, she simply had to get nearer the bank where the
flow was calmer. She looked ahead for the outline of the landing stage
and saw nothing but boulders and crags and knotted

branches. Suddenly, hollowly, she knew there was not a house

within a mile; and at the same time she became

158

aware of cold water lapping about her shoes. Mechanically, she

reached under the seat for the bailing can, felt about with her fingers
for something which . . . was no^ there.

A cold sweat sprang at her brow, something gripped tightly at

her heart and wouldn't let go; it seemed as though the uneasiness
which had lain dormant all day' had suddenly burst into a flame of
terror.

Had the whole day been a build-up — for this? Was it possible?
Tess told herself vehemently it couldn't be, yet nothing could dispel
her clear conviction that from habit she had wedged the bailing tin
under her seat before tying up. In which case only human fingers
could have dislodged it and lifted it from the canoe.

Then, perhaps mercifully, she had no time to think about Anita

or anyone else. Swiftly the light craft was being drawn into the main
current of the lake. The rapids, Tess knew, were fairly close to the
bank, where a waterfall met the lake and gushed in a wide turbulent
expanse over a submerged ledge. Nothing terribly dangerous about it
for expert canoeists and kayak enthusiasts, but Tess was

no expert, and she doubted whether, after this, she would ever
become an enthusiast.

Impossible, she found, to scoop water from the canoe with one
hand and paddle with the other, and if she drew in the paddle and
bailed with both hands the light canoe broadsided and bounced. Some
time soon she would have to decide what to do when the canoe sank.
She wasn't
a bad swimmer, but the nearest bank was the one where
the white rapids were already in sight, and the other
must be three-qaurters of a mile away. Impossible to swim
among boulder-strewn rapids, but ... Yes, she would
somehow have to make it to the island. It was much
 nearer now, and though the currents in its vicinity were
powerful, by using all her strength she might manage to nose the
canoe hard into the earthy bank.
But the Garth House canoe was old and weary; it
sprang another leak and within seconds it sank beneath her. The
shock of the deep cold water nearly paralyzed

Tess. Then normal instincts got her limbs moving, and she
struck out with all she had for the island.

15S>

CHA PTER NINE

THE two men returned from North Tucket together that

evening. It seemed that Tess had forgotten to unlock the main door
and Steve had to use his key. After a hard day they usually took a
small drink in the lounge before going upstairs to change, and it was
George, this time, who poured short whiskies and squirted soda. Both

decided to do without ice. They drank, and talked in ^technical

terms about the job. Then George looked at his
 watch.

"We're a bit late. I think I'll take a drink upstairs to Anita."

Steve nodded and let him go. He measured a modest gin-and-

and-French into a glass and carried it into the kitchen, but there, still
holding it, he stared. The room was empty, the stove dead and well
brushed, with the

kindling piled ready beside it. Not a sign of dinner prepar-ation,

and no smell but that of the mild disinfectant with
which Tess sprinkled the scullery.

He put the drink on the table, strode to the stairs and took them
in threes. He looked into George's room. "Is
Anita in?"
"No, but her car's outside, so she won't be far away." Steve went
to Tess's room and tapped on the door,

opened it and slammed it shut. He came back to George. "Tess

is out too. Wonder where they've gone?"

"The Buick was there when you ran into the shed." George
paused in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. "Tess always insists on
being here by five to get dinner. I'll bet Anita's kept her somewhere.
I'd say a friend called for Anita and she begged Tess to go along too."

Steve considered this. "You may be" right. I'll go down and get
the stove going. Maybe there's a message some-
where."

But there was no message, nothing anywhere but a bland

quietude. Steve lit the fire and packed it with logs,

stoked the boiler fire and took another look at the two ears.
Audibly, he cursed Garth House's lack of a tele-

160

phone. The minute he'd signed the contract and became half-
owner of the place he'd see that a telephone was installed, even if he
Had to pay for bringing the line out here himself!"

He turned as George came out into the dusk. "I'm

-going round to call at a few places, starting with Anita's friend

on the lakeside. The minute I get to a phone I'll ring everyone we
know."
 "Do you think it's necessary? They're bound to turn up soon."

, "It's so unusual. They're probably fuming somewhere

^because they can't get in touch with us. Maybe a car broke down and
stranded them, but at least we can find out who they're with." He was
getting into his own car as he added, "I've never known them go out
together in the canoe, but you might just go down and make sure,
George, so that we can write it off. And stick around, in case they get
back. I'll be as quick as I can."

Actually, it took Steve rather less than an hour to speed down to

the lakeside houses and then into town. At

.one of the houses he made the telephone calls. No one ^had

seen Anita today, though someone did mention having noticed Tess in
the Buick early this morning. But that was all. As he received
negative after negative. Steve's jaw tightened till the muscle showed.
A couple of young women didn't just disappear; in this case, they
didn't go off for long rambles either. Anita wasn't strong enough

to take much walking, and Tess would not stay away from what
she conceived to be her duty — the preparation of dinner for two
hungry men. Though Steve's hunger had vanished along with his
nonchalance. What the hell were they up to — clearing off like that!
 At spine-chilling speed he took the road back to Garth House.
There he discovered that even George's stolid
composure had cracked.

"The canoe has gone," he said hollowly. "If you haven't found a
trace of them among your friends, they must have used it."
Steve lost color. "It may have sprung another crack since we
repaired it. I warned both Anita and Tess that it might!"

"It did leak —Anita used it with one of her friends, and said .so.
They'd have the bailing can, of course, but ... to be out so long. It's
quite dark now."

Steve moved as if electrified. "Come on, we'll drive down the

lake and borrow a launch. They've probably

put in at some inlet that's nowhere near a road, and are simply
hoping that a boat will pick them up."
In the ghost of his normal voice, George said, "Unless they've
decided to find a way home and are lost in the
forest."
"Shut up," said Steve savagely. "Bring the flashlight from your
car and let's move."
 The following hours were nightmarish. At the yacht club they
were lent two motor vessels and acquired a few helpers. George went
in one boat and Steve in the other, and separately they combed twenty
miles of the lakeside with torch beams and floodlamps. In the small
hours Steve returned to Garth House, to find it as he had left it. Then
he went back to the lake, zigzagging and shining lights, shutting off
the motor to shout and listen. The delicate flames of dawn swept
down the lake, burning into the
indigo, turning it pale.
Lake Kenegan looked benign and calm; the men in the two
boats were pale and tired, but willing to carry the search to its end. It
was Steve who asked if anyone would volunteer to accompany him
into the rapids; it would take two men to handle the boat and anything
they might

encounter.
"If they entered the rapids late yesterday afternoon," on man
said, "they're either done for or down at Lake Kenegan Hotel by now.
In a light canoe, I'd say . . ."

"I'll go alone," said Steve briefly.

"The boat is too heavy. Better to go as far as the long

island and then change into the deck canoe."
 Steve nodded. He had the bright eyes and tight feature of a
fanatic, and had spoken hardly at all during the long hours of
darkness. The launch arrowed down the center of the lake, bore right
as it neared the island, and made to cross the currents towards a tree
that overhung the water. Here they were to tie up while the canoe was
lowered.

162

. But they never did reach the great arching branch at Hhe bank.
Steve was using the binoculars, scanning the

'island.

"Hold it! Swing round — there's someone in the island among

the bracken. For God's sake speed up!"

They found Tess on her knees, trying to stand up. The ash-
blonde hair was damp and lifeless, her face grey-white, her blue eyes
lacklustre. In her wet clothes she was shivering violently, but
somehow she managed a wan smile.

"Hallo," she said weakly. Then closed her eyes and let Steve
take command. She felt him lift her, felt the thick shirt against her
cold cheek, the motion with which he carried her. And she heard him
say, in a voice that was harsh and controlled;
"Anita will be somewhere. For the love of Pete find her
quickly."

After that, Tess's conscious being floated away.

c, i? *

She awoke in her own bed, quite suddenly. There was a face
very close to her own, a square young face that looked anxious and
despondent and peevish.

"Tess," very softly. 'Tess, wake up. It's Dick."

; The effort of awakening was almost too much, but he

spoke again, urgently, and she willed her eyes to stay wide. "Oh . . .
Dick," she whispered dazedly.
"Are you all right?" "It seems so."
"Then I'm going to have you moved to Blue Valley. Mrs. Lesley
and I will look after you. I've told Mr. Fenner and he says you must
decide for yourself. So ... so when he comes in, you'll tell him you
want to go with me, won't you?"
 The sunny room swam, and she closed her eyes. "I don't want to
move, Dick. Not yet — perhaps tomorrow."
"There's no one, to take care of you here. We can manage it
easily — wrap you in blankets, put plenty of pillows in the car,
please, Tess. Just say yes, and I'll do the rest."

•Tomorrow," she said through pale lips.

He was bending close above her and she couldn't bear it. She
felt weak and small and . . . and was remembering

163

too much. He kissed her forehead and she fretfully wished he

wouldn't. And then he had straightened and Steve was beside him,
looking taut but noncommittal. Dick seemed to fade out, and Steve
sank down into a chair. For a long time she lay with her eyes closed,
just know-ing he was there while she gathered strength.

She heard him stand up, and looked at him, "Don't go, Steve,"
she said quickly. "I'm quite awake. It's only ..."
"That's all right," he said evenly. "How do you feel?"
"A bit whacked. What time is it?"
"Nearly twelve."
 "Thank you for . . . finding me this morning."
"It was yesterday morning."
"Yesterday?" Her eyes were dark and incredulous as
.she stared at him. "Have I been here in bed since yesterday?"

"You have, and you're staying there at least another day.

Doctor's orders."

"Doctor? I've never had a doctor since I came to Canada."

"You have, honey. I fetched him myself."
She was quiet a moment, gave him another fleeting glance. He
looked remote and fed-up, even a little jaded. But she couldn't ask
him point-blank.

"How is ... everything?" she managed.

"We're getting along. Mrs. Willis is on the job and arranged for
the woman who was coming to help you to show up a few days
earlier. She'll be arriving this evening, to stay."
"I'm glad. Are you getting your meals without any trouble?"
"Sure. I've been eating from cans."
"And ... and George?"
He said offhandedly, "He's gone down to Vancouver for a
week."
 She moistened dry lips. "You mean that . . . that . . ." "That's
right. You and I were alone in the house last night. Couldn't be
helped, and you didn't know anything

about it, anyway, Mrs. Patten will be here tonight." They'd been
alone in the house before, she recalled
dully. "Dick wants me to go to Blue Valley," she said.

164

"As your fiance," he answered stiffly, "he has a right to ask it."

"Am I a trouble to you? Shouldn't you be working

today?" •'

"I can lay off for a day or so — and you're no burden. In any
case, I feel responsible for what happened to you."

A flatness came into her tones. "So that's why you're here."

"No, it isn't!" He suppressed the hint of heat, and added in level

tones, "Don't try that line again, there's a good girl. I suppose you'd
like to wash and tidy UD before lunch?"
 "I can make it to (he bathroom," she said hastily.

"I'll help you when you're ready. You're lucky to have come
through so well. You were in bad shape when we found you."

She looked away from him. "I'm sorry to have worried

everyone. It was being wet that made me shiver so much. I shivered
right through the night. I ... I tried all those things they recommend —
gripping my hands, stamping my feet, but it got colder and it was so
dark. . . ."

"Stop it, Tess!" There was a vibrant minute of silence before he

asked, "How do you feel about going to Blue Valley for a few days?"

"I don't think I should."

"Do you want Nieland to come here?"

Though blunt, his tone was also gentle; yet there was a steely
quality in his glance that made Tess feel dither-ing and defenceless.
She had had enough, and dissembling was almost beyond her.

"I'm not engaged to Dick," she said.

 His expression hardly changed, and there was a decided edge to
his voice. "Simply on kissing terms? Do you want him to come here,
or don't you?"

She floundered. "I don't want him hurt any more. You wouldn't
understand, but ... Dick isn't strong, as you

are. He's been . . . touching the depths just lately, and I didn't
want to make anything worse for him."

"Very well — you're not engaged to him. Leave it there." He

went to the door and lifted her dressing-gown from the hook, came to
the bed. "Don't try to be quick.

165

You may have got through without a severe chill, but you're still
shaky."

"I'll manage alone, Steve. Please!"

"All right, but I want to be sure you can walk. Don't mind me —
I'm just a piece of furniture you can cling to if you need support."
She managed a pale smile. It was the only way to-respond to his
masterfulness. Carefully she sat up and turned back the bedclothes,
swung her legs to the floor. She stood up, very conscious of crumpled
pyjamas, felt the gown dropped over her shoulders.

And with her back to him she was able to inquire, "Has Anita
gone with George?"

For just a second his fingers dug into her shoulders. But his
answer came casually. "Yes. Legs feel weak?"
"Not too bad." She half turned her head. "Did . o g
did she tell you where to find me?" I "No."

"What did she say?"

An odd pause. He dropped one hand to his side but kept the
other on her left arm so that she could not turn right round to face
him. His voice held no trace of emotion.

"You'll have to know some time, but I intended you to wait a

few hours. I brought you straight here yesterday morning, but left
others searching the islands. After the doctor had put you under a
sedative I left you here in charge of one of the yacht-club wives and
went back to help the others. About mid-morning a couple of

youths who'd been climbing came to find us to report that they'd

found Anita. She'd stumbled and cut her head
badly . . . she was finished."
 "Oh, no!"
It was a cry from the heart as she struggled against

him. He slipped his arm right round her, supporting her as he

might have supported any woman who had received

a shock, impersonally giving his strength. It was as > well for

Tess that he did. She drew herself away from him,
strove to compose herself.
"Poor George," she whispered, and thought it was no
wender that Steve looked as he did — grim and tense. He must
be feeling terrible, and the very thought of Steve in such a condition
stiffened her. She slid her arms into

166

the sleeves of the gown, tied the girdle, knew that after several
hours under a sedative she probably looked frightful, but that it didn't
matter. "Please tell me the rest."

"There's little to tell. She must have climbed a very steep ascent
straight from the lake, and managed it perfectly. It was while scaling
the second outcrop, among the trees, that she slipped." He stopped,
and asked after a moment, "What's your story — that you were both
out in the canoe and it began to leak?"

"Yes," quickly. "That's what happened."

"Too much water to bail and the canoe sank? It seems you made
for the island and she for the bank."

She touched her icy cheeks with trembling fingers. "That's right.
I ... I'm a fair swimmer. Do you mind if ... if we don't talk about it any
more?"

"There's just one thing. You were wet from the skin out, but
Anita was only damp with dew. When you feel like it you can tell me
how that came about"

"How would I know?"

"You know, all right."

Suddenly Tess passed the limit o,f her endurance. To her intense
humiliation she was weeping unrestrainedly. She tore away from him
and fell on the bed, burying her face. When she felt him near her
nerves, screamed.
 "Don't touch me," she cried. "Go away and leave me alone. I
don't want to see you again. Just go!"

She wasn't sure when he left her; she only knew that when at
last she lifted a pale face and looked about her with pink-rimmed eyes
she was alone. She got up and draggingly made her way into the
bathroom, bathed her face in cold water and brushed her teeth. The
mirror showed lean young features and heavy eyes, and for a long
time she stared at her reflection and willed her mind to work again.

He was blaming her for Anita's death; she had felt

it in him — a raging ache for some sort of venge(ance.

What did he think had happened? That she, Tess, had

deliberately left Anita to make her own way back to

Garth House, that she had pushed out in the canoe for

home, and simply had the bad luck to hole the bottom

of the canoe? Could he possibly think that? Yet why not?

 167

He had lost something . . . something precious, and felt a

compulsion to punish the person he blamed. Would he believe her if
she told him the truth?

But Tess knew that for George's sake she would never speak of
her parting with Anita, of the lost bailing tin, of the rapids which were
nowhere near the lakeside

house of the friends from whom they had been going to borrow
an outboard motor-boat Only very dimly could she realize herself
what had happened. Anita, young and beautiful but definitely warped,
had gone a little crazy when she had read that letter to George from
Frances Brodie. She had confronted Tess, hurled all sorts of insults
and torn up the money, but, incredibly, had apologized and repaid the
cash, made the friendly gesture of wanting to spend the day with Tess
on the lake. Only she hadn't felt friendly; under the winning exterior
she had been fiendishly angry and malevolent. It was possible that
anger and triumph had been responsible for the careless instant when
she had lost her footing.

Thinking of George again, Tess felt faint. He had his freedom to

marry whom he chose, but at what a price! He had been father and
brother to Anita for so long that he must feel as if he had lost a limb.
If only one could, help him, she reflected miserably. Unfortunately, as
things were, George could only help himself.

She crawled back into her bedroom, lay down in the dressing-
gown and looked at the sky. The window was wide; it let in the scents
of outdoors, the clean smell of
the lake, the bracing air of approaching autumn . . .

fall, they called it here. An appropriate word, too, for the long
Indian summer, the reddening trees which sud-denly became
skeletons rising from beds of russet and brown. This year she
wouldn't see it. The leaves would be that strange combination of
green and plum which pre-ceded the fires of autumn . . . but that was
all. Tess let out a shaky breath, but she couldn't weep again. She
had no tears.
At one o'clock Steve brought in a tray. A boiled egg and fingers
of toast, a peeled orange, a small pot of coffee. She murmured thanks,
but he said nothing, and she guessed there was something
smouldering under the chilly exterior. He put cigarettes and matches
beside her, placed

168
 half a dozen magazines within reach and went out. Ten minutes
later she heard him drive away. Now, she thought tiredly, was her
chance. She could get up, could leave Garth House if she wished. But
no. Steve wouldn't have left the way wide open. She wouldn't mind
betting that he had locked her in and taken all the keys. Not that

she had any urge to escape. Wherever she might go, there could
be no escaping the bleakness of her heart.

Somehow she got through the rest of the day. Steve came back
and brought her some tea. At seven-thirty a small wiry woman
brought her a light supper. Mrs.
Patten was shy and self-effacing. She said Tess was not to worry
about anything, that she had just been managing three chalets down at
the other end of the lake and Garth House was likely to be a picnic
compared with that. She could stay for the rest of this month and the
whole of next. By that time there would be plenty of help available in
Pelton.

Steve came in to collect the tray, and all he said was, "Good
night. Sleep well," as he went from the room. Tess was alone till
morning. She tried to read, got up and stared down at the jet expanse
of the lake, thought of chipmunks and ^squirrels quarrelling and
snoozing
 among the trees. A faint breeze blew through the pines, brought
air tanged with resin into the room. She lay down again and put out
the light, fought down the love and pain that kept choking at her heart
and throat.

Next morning it was as warm as midsummer and a shimmering

haze. of blue and amethyst lay over the distant hills. Tess had coffee
and toast in her room, took a bath and dressed. For a reason which
remained obscure, she put on a flowered house frock and brushed her
hair well back. She used a faint touch of lipstick but no powder. Her
blue eyes looked large and widely spaced in the bright morning light,
but there were shadows in them, and her face was pale and grave.
Through the long hours of the night she had fought a battle and come
near to victory.

If you dwell on pain or unhappiness, she had decided, you only

intensify it. She had to forget as much as she could and ignore the
unforgettable. As she went down-stairs she wore a mask of steadiness
that concealed much.
The day was calm and uneventful. Mrs. Patten slipped

169

without trouble into the routine of the house, and with

 only herself, Tess and Steve to cater for she was not
overworked. Steve went off after mid-morning coffee and did not
return till five-thirty. The evening he spent over papers and plans.
The week-end passed. Steve went to the club f6F meals,
Mrs. Patten's husband ate in the kitchen with his wife and Tess,
and all three of them pottered in the garden during daylight hours.

On Monday, at about three. Roland Kain turned up in a taxi,

Fortunately he had heard the news and was slightly averse from
discussing it; also the fact that he wore purplish corduroy trousers,
needed a haircut and appeared to be growing a beard rather side-
tracked more important subjects.

"Like it?" he asked, dangling his -fingers under his c "Looks

frightful," Tess told him. "Why have you gone
Bohemian? You're not the type."
"Self-defence," he explained with a grin. 'The redhead

became alarmingly loving, so I went poetic on her. It worked,

but I'll be glad to be sophisticated and handsome again. Plenty of hot
water?"
"Yes. Did you have a good time?"
 "So-so. Had rather a blow, though — I finish here soon. My
next job is on the other side of the Rockies."

"You'll find compensations," she said. "I'll have some tea ready
for you when you come down."

It was over tea, about half an hour later, that Tess mentioned
George.
Roland said soberly, "I heard about Anita through
our head office. They've told George he can take a month's
holiday, if he likes, but it's my guess he'll come back
here as soon as he's through with the business in Van-
couver. He doesn't want time to think. Not yet, anyway."
"How do you think Frances Brodie will feel about things?"

"Heaven knows. George did see her, after I'd writte you, didn't
he?"

"Luckily, yes — and it was more or less voluntarily; he didn't

know that Frances was leaving Vancouver till

she told him herself. Neither of them suspects you, or any of

us."
 170

"Were they friendly?"

"I'm sure they were; Frances wrote to him afterwards. I wish I

knew how she's feeling now."

"I could take a guess. She's full of pity for George, but won't
have anything to do with him till he's well
over the worst."
She nodded. "She wanted' George to make the choice
— not Pate."
"Exactly, and she's n.o hypocrite. You know, you'll be a bit like
Frances when you're her age — unless you marry and have a
rollicking family by that time. What about settling in Canada?"
She smiled faintly. "Is that a proposal?"
"Heaven forbid! What about the chap at Blue Valley?"
"We're just friends."
"And Steve?" very quietly.
She kept the smile. "Not even friends . . . but that's how things
go. More tea?"

He shook his head. "I used to wonder if Steve had it badly for
Anita or was just kidding her along. It's strange how blind even a
hardened case like Steve can be. I suppose he's up to his eyes in work
and as approachable as a wounded bear?"

"You'll see, when he comes. Is he expecting you?" "Not today,

particularly. What about going out for
a drive?"

On the point of declining, Tess paused. "I haven't driven myself

since I had the wetting, but I'd like to go
over to Blue Valley. Will you take me?"
"If you like, though I could think of better ways to spend the
time."

"What I have to do won't take long. May we go now?" For the

first time in days Tess felt a slight stirring of

warmth in her veins, and an easing of her trigger-edged nerves.

She got into the front seat of the car. while Roland slid behind the
wheel, explained that the second gear was tricky but responded to
coaxing, and let him do the rest. His glance at her was appreciative.

"I must say I like you all feminine," he commented. "That blue
flowery thing does something for your eyes, •but they do look tired. I
haven't quite, got the hang frf what happened to you on the lake."
 171

"The canoe cracked open and I had to swim for it. I spent the
night in the open."

"You poor little pet," he said, and patted her hand.

Momentarily Tess wondered how she would have re-sponded

had Steve reacted in that way. Then she gave her mind to the task
ahead. But as it- happened, the visit to Blue Valley was not the ordeal
she anticipated. Dick was out.

Mrs. Lesley, having admitted Tess only into the hall of the
house, crossed her arms characteristically across her waist and lifted
her leathery chin.

"I've heard it all," she said in aggressive tones, "and I must say
I'm not sorry you've refused Dick. You've got mixed up with a strange
lot over there, and I'm sure it's better for Dick to keep clear of them."

"Will you tell him I called to~thank him for the things he sent
over and for coming to see me?"
 "I'll tell him, but he won't care." There was a hard jubilation in
her expression. "You did him the best turn in the world when you
refused to be brought here the other day. He was dead keen to marry
you so that he could keep the place for himself, but when you stupidly
turned him away I had to comfort him and think up something
quickly. We've heard that Mr. Nieland will be coming back here after
his few weeks in the clinic. Did you know that?"
"No, I didn't, but it's great news."

"That's not all! Mr. Nieland's brother—Dick's uncle— is coming

with him and they'll be running the place to-gether. It was my
suggestion."
"What about Dick?"
"Dick is going to Europe for a year or two," she brought out
exultantly, as if that too had been her idea. "He's always longed for
it—wanted it even more than he wanted Blue Valley. So you see, he's
going to be happier than
you could make him!"
"I'm glad. Tell him that, will you? Goodbye, Mrs.
Lesley."

The dour housekeeper must have felt cheated by Tess's swift

departure. Her straight figure in rusty black skirt and yellowed white
blouse still stood militantly in the hall as the car circled and jolted
back towards the road.
 172

"Phew," said Tess, and she smiled as he recounted the brief

scene. "It's the best thing that could happen to Dick," she ended.
"He'll either become a European or long for the ranch. No half
measures."
"Imagine having the choice," sighed Roland. "Maybe the guy's
realizing at last that he's well off. Where shall we go?"

She asked at once, "Is it possible to look at the North Tucket site
without being seen?" -

"From a distance, yes. What's the idea—clearing a few things

off your plate?"

"Could be. I can't leave the Kenegan district without knowing

what the new mine looks like."

"Why not go out there with Steve?" He'd be able to explain

everything."

"He said he'd take me, but things didn't work out that way. Just
give me a glimpse of it."
 Resignedly, he swung the car towards North Tucket. "For this,
you ought to be kind to me. What about a film tonight?"

She hesitated, then said, "Not the cinema, but I'll go out to
dinner with you."
"Sweet grief. Do you really mean it?"
"I sure do," she said. "They don't dress for dinner during the
week at the country club. Let's go there."
"You've got yourself a date," he stated firmly. "Hang

on to your eye-teeth; it's a rough ride to North Tucket." Twenty

minutes later he stopped the car on the side of
a hill. To the right, hemlock, birch and spruce crowded the steep
summit, but the trees on the left had fallen victim to a timber gang,
and it was possible to look straight down across the stumps to an
immense stretch of prairie that was dotted with bushes. You could see
the

road down there, a straight brown ribbon into the prairie. And to
the left of that road, not far from an arc of trees,
the mine was visible; a collection of buildings, black gear for
sinking the shaft and a vast, tarpaulin-covered mass of mining
equipment.
 'The gang are quartered in long camp huts among the trees,"
Roland explained. "We three are working in the

wooden huts, but you can see the shell of a new brick building
to the left. That's to be the main offices. Some

173

time there'll be houses up here on the hillside for the permanent

workers and their families—the new tov^ife ship of North Tucket. I'm
not likely to see it." ^::^

"Nor I." Steve is down there now, she thought. She said, "Let's
go back. I wish I hadn't come."

He shrugged as he set the car in motion. "That's how is. A first

look at anything should never be your last.

What do you say to getting changed before Steve shows u and

clearing off for the whole evening?"
"Yes, I'd like it."

It was one thing to get away from Garth House for the evening
and quite another to escape from inner conflict. But Tess got through
without anguish. There was something hard and cold where her heart
had been, and she was grateful. She didn't want to feel any more, ever.
And the discord within could only be lessened by forgetting; there
was no outlet here for it.

Somehow there was solace in doing things for the first time with
someone who didn't matter. This first visit to the country club, for
instance," was neither heightened nor made drab by Roland's
companionship. She saw

the place for what it was—a well-built stone edifice which was
plentifully panelled in arty-facetious signs. They served an excellent
dinner, provided amplified gramophone music on weekdays and the
Pelton Dance Band on Sat-urdays, and were proud of the long
pinewood bar and
its variety of wines and spirits.
There was plenty of talk and not much dancing because
everyone knew everyone else. Even Roland was well enough known
to attract others to their table. The time passed almost unnoticed, till
couples began to leave and
Tess found it was midnight.

Steve was smoking in the stoep when they got home. Tess said,
"Thanks a lot, Roland; it was lovely. Good night," And to Steve
another "Good night," without
 looking at him.

- With Roland Kain in residence the atmosphere lightened a

little though the days followed the usual routine. Mrs.
Patten cooked the two men's breakfast, and as soon as Tess
heard them depart she came down for coffee and
toast. She helped the woman in the bedrooms, rested or took a
walk, had lunch in the kitchen and arranged for

174

dinner, which the men ate in the dining-room while she •<
stayed in the kitchen with Mrs. Patten. Most evenings she spent in her
room.

On Saturday morning, a week after the previously arranged

appointment, she went with Steve to the attorney's office, showed her
mother's title deeds, birth certificate and most recent letter and was
courteously told that from now on Mr. Nieiand would be consulted.
Steve signed some-thing and the attorney shook his hand.

"You're now liable, Mr. Fenner, along with Mrs. Harvey. What
are you going to do with the property?"
 "Live there for a while. By the- time the weather breaks I'll have
built a place nearer North Tucket. It's half-way finished."

Tess felt the familiar tightening in her chest. He'd kept it secret...
or perhaps told Anita. Had he hoped to share it with Anita? Or had
he ...

He was saving, "Yes, I'm thinking of staying for a couple of

years. I think the company will consent to my managing tiie mine,
and as a sideline I'll develop the Garth House property. You're getting
out that paper about let-ting me have a free hand there?"

"That's aside from the purchase of the property. Mrs. Harvey

will have to be asked to agree to it, of course, but I don't anticipate
any difficulty. Since I saw last you I've had a letter from her. She was
impressed with your fairness in taking only a half-share. of the
property when you could have had it outright for the same figure. I
think she'd like to hear from you personally."

Steve slanted his cool glance at Tess and answered the man
evenly, "We'll do the business the impersonal way, through you. I'll
have the cash waiting at the bank when the transfer is through."
"Good. Goodbye to you both."
 They came out into the street, a big, lean, brown-haired man in a
grey suit and a girl in ordinary navy linen. But
Steve didn't open the door of the estate tss
"If you like," he said, "you can do that shopping you've
postponed a few times. I have to call at the bank ar-d the newspaper
office and it may take me an hour or so. What about meeting at the
cafe over there—inside?"
"£ ... I didn't bring any money."

175

"I'll stake you. A hundred dollars?"

"Just fifty. But ..."

He pushed the money into her bag. "Don't hurry," he said

offhandedly. "I'll be over the way from eleven on-
wards."

Her throat ached as she turned and left him. The very sight of
him made her feel wretched. But she didn't feel much better when he
was gone and she was approaching the big department store. It was all
over, she reflected. He had signed and was virtually half-owner of
Garth House; she was nothing there any longer, not even her mother's
representative. In fact, she was free to leave whenever she wished.
The knowledge was like a lead weight on
her mind.
She bought two frocks, one of mid-blue jersey cloth and

the other a green tweed, a pair of high-heeled brown calf shoes,

some underwear and stockings. Her goods were left

at a counter just inside the store, where she could pick them up
later, and she came out and down the main
street towards the cafe.

For the first time she noticed that Pelton was really quite a
splendid town. Wide streets, modern shops, busy-ness everywhere
and yet time for a chat at the edge of the pavement or refreshment in
one of the cafes. Well-dressed women piling weekend needs into their
cars, men throng-

ing the sports shops and looking happy as they came out
carrying a parcel of fishing accessories or golf balls. Sud-

denly it came to her that she knew many of the faces, that some
of the people even smiled at her because they
knew she lived in the district—which meant they recog-
nized her as a local if nothing else. And suddenly to be a
 local in this district was important, something it would be
a wrench to give up.
She entered the cafe, saw Steve getting up to seat her.

She sat down quickly.

"No parcels?" he asked.
"We'll pick them up. May I have tea?"
"Of course." He ordered it, got out cigarettes, "What
did you buy?"
She told him, leaned forward slightly to the match he
held. "I'm set up now, till I get to England."
In the guarded, noncommittal tones which had recently

176

become normal to him, he said, "I suppose you're hoping to be

happier in England."

"I'll be happy once I'm settled."

"Think you could forget Garth House?"

"No, but there'll be other things." She drew on the cigarette, took
an interest in edging the ash on the metal ashtray. "Would it make any
difference if my mother sold her half-share in the property to someone
else? Would you mind?"

"Why?" There was a rough note in his voice. "Are you hoping to
persuade her to do that? You want to break
the last link?"
"It seems sensible, doesn't it?"
"No, it seems cowardly."

To her relief the tea arrived then. She poured it, a little
shakily, .drank it too hot. But she needn't have hurried. Steve smoked
and drank, looked along the cafe and out of the door and said nothing
more till they were ready to leave. They collected the parcels and
drove straight back to Garth House.

They were almost there when he said, "I don't believe I told you
about my house at North Tucket."
"You know very well you didn't."
"That's right—I do. It's not very big—four rooms and

a terrace overlooking the mountain stream. There's room for a

lawn and a few flower-beds, and I shall be able to

kee-i a cornie of horses. If I do take over the managership of the

mine I'll need the sort of place in which I can
 entertain the company directors, and so on."
"It sounds ... quite nice."
"Like to see it?"

"No!" She glossed the sharp negative with: "I don't care for
houses that haven't been lived in."

"It seems," he said with cold irony, "that you don't care for
anything in this district. Are you hoping that Dickie-boy will be a
more charming companion in England?"

So he'd heard—probably from Roland. "He's going to the

Continent," she said.
"How far is Paris from London?"
The fact that he had now pulled up near the stoep of the house
saved Tess from answering. She got out, and he followed, bringing
her parcels. She thanked him, but he

177

went ahead, up the stairs. Tess hesitated, decided she would

have to pay back the loan by slipping the money into his pocket as
quietly as he had slipped it into her bag, and walked through to the
kitchen. Mrs. Patten needed no assistance with the curry and rice and
sweet pudding, so after a moment Tess mounted the staircase. At the
head of it she halted, for George Maxwell was there in the corridor,
speaking to Steve who was apparently in his room. George turned and
saw her, gave her a haggard
smile and said, "Hallo, Tess."
"Why, hallo," she returned softly. "How are you,
George?"
"Ready for work. I hope you feel better than you look." Steve's
voice came dispassionately from his room. "She'
either wretchedly in love or battling with a guilty con-science.
Could be a bit of both, but I don't think so."

"In love, Tess?" asked George, looking kind and tired at the
same time.

"Just in a muddle," she said briefly. "See you at lunch." As she

washed in the bathroom -it came to her that she
had not seen George since before Anita's death, though he

• had probably seen her while she was under the sedative.
He looked worn and older, but hadn't the angry, strained expression
she had noticed once or twice in Steve. They were such different men,
though. George looked as if at last he had found some sort of peace;
nothing even mildly happy about it, but it was tranquillity; he'd
probably settle for a sad quietude, for a while. She wondered if he had
seen Frances in Vancouver, and whether the woman was already on
her way to Nova Scotia. Strange, but she felt she knew Frances
Brodie quite well; yet they would
never meet.
That day, because it was Saturday and Mr. Patten was there for
the weekend meals, Tess ate with the three men in the dining-room.
George was fairly silent and apparentl without appetite. Steve put on
his absent expression and spoke only of work, and it was left to
Roland to conjure
a light note.
And that was the theme of the whole weekend. By Monday Tess
was feeling raw and a little bitter. Because she had to do something
she forced herself to enter the room Anita had occupied, was
surprised to see it looking

178

so untenanted. Steve must have prevailed upon Mrs. Patten to

clear the room and despatch the trunks. Had he re-
possessed his own photograph?
She was out in the corridor when a car door slammed down
below. It was an unusual time for a visitor, but it could be someone
from town. There had been a few callers during the past week.
 _ She went down to the lounge, saw a woman standing in the
porch, a fairly tall woman in a grey cashmere suit and a small scarlet
hat. Her features were long and regular, her hair dark and neat, and as
she saw Tess she smiled one of those slight, genuine smiles which are
half
courteous, half from the heart.

"Are you Tess Harvey?" she asked. "I'm Frances Brodie May I
come in?"

CHAPTER TEN

ODDLY, Tess was unsurprised. It was as if subconsciously she

had been lingering on at Garth House for just this climax in George's
affairs. Had she thought about it, she would have admitted that life
doesn't round itself off,

that there is no portion of it that hasn't a frayed edge here, a

blank spot there. But somehow she had felt, with-out' quite knowing
it, that her own small part in George's life was not quite complete.
After all, she had been the last to speak to Anita. George hadn't
questioned her about it, and that in itself might be a little peculiar.
 Now she greeted the woman from Vancouver with a welcoming
smile. "You don't know how glad I am to see you. Miss Brodie. Do sit
down. Did you drive?"
The other dropped a grey suede handbag on to a low table and
sank into a chair. "A nursing friend lent me her small car. Can you put
me up tonight?"
"For as long as you like!"
"Just one night. The day after tomorrow I leave Van-
couver by train for the other side of the country. I came up to
say goodbye to the three men and to meet you." A
pause. "Has George spoken to you about me?"

"No. I learned about you from Steve and Roland Kain." "Nice
men, both of them." Another pause. "George

told me quite a bit about you when he came down for the
weekend a short while ago. He thinks you have lots of
courage and spirit."
Tess grinned wryly. "They're at a low ebb, I'm afraid.
I'm getting ready to leave (his part of the world myself."
She hesitated, and then took a chance. "I feel I know
you very well. You don't mind my having heard about you
and . . . and George?"
 Frances shook her head, but her glance clouded. "Every one
knows. That's partly what I'm running away from. Even at my age
there are things one can't stand, and my
particular aversion is pity. I don't need it."

"Why should you? I should think a good many women would

envy you George's love."

180

(Frances smiled. "You're awfully direct, but I thought

you would be. As a matter of fact, I deliberately came early, so

that I could have a chat with you. Do the men come home to lunch?"
"No. The earliest they show up is five-fifteen."
"Then we've plenty of time. Smoke?"
"Thanks. Will you excuse me a minute? I have to tell
j S the housekeeper you're here. She'll be gettinp us a cold |
|.lunch—is that all right?"
j | "Perfect." Frances blew smoke, and looked out at the
I distant firs, remained in the same position till Tess returned

jj from the kitchen. Then she said bluntly: "I'll be as forth-jj

right as you are. How did you get on with Anita?"
 jj Tess took her time over seating herself comfortably,

| before answering: "Fairly well, on the whole. She had g friends

here and was out a lot."
1 "You were with her the day she died, weren't you?

j Perhaps I ought to explain a few things." But it may have |

been the strangeness of her surroundings, her conscious-
g ness that Tess, though friendly, was a stranger, that

I caused the note of constraint in her voice. "No doubt you

Eknow already that George and I were practically engaged
when Larry Vance died; you also know that Anita and I ' fought
a battle with George and Anita won. I'm not the
type to accept a second-best course, so I decided to light y out
for Nova Scotia. Then suddenly George came down to

|j Vancouver for a weekend, without Anita. He came without j

knowing I was planning to leave, and that really excited
j me. It was like an admission, and the hours we spent
| together were wonderful."
J Nothing wrong with Steve's psychology, apparently he

| had known what he was doing when he had merely Is. pointed
a way to George and left it there.
 Tess nodded. "George was happier than I'd known him when he
returned from (hat weekend."
"Yes, I know. For the first time since Anita lost her j husband
we talked without any reserve. It didn't solve
J anything, but I did realize how he felt.-He promised to
| come down again before the end of the month and we
| each gave our word that we'd write regularly till he could

» get a longish leave and come out to Nova Scotia to see I

me. It wasn't very satisfactory, but I knew for sure, that

I - 181

weekend, that his duty to Anita was far stronger than his

feeling for her. Her selfishness had destroyed his affection, but
even I could see that that made her the more depend-ent on him. We
talked it over as a big problem that concerned us both, and we decided
that if Steve married

her . . ." She broke off. "That's not important now. After George
had returned to Kenegan he wrote to me and I answered him. The
next thing was a telephone call from him, right there in Vancouver.
He'd already been in town several days, the funeral was over and he'd
just signed papers renouncing his claim to Anita's wealth. I refused to
see him. Somehow, just then I couldn't. Being young and open-
minded you may not understand that."

"I do understand, a little. Things had hung on between you for

so long that the sudden freedom to marry through
a tragedy was rather bitter."
Frances knocked ash from her cigarette, smiled faintly,

"You're as sensible as George said you were. That was just it. I
needed time to adjust, and the few days to the
end of the month weren't enough."
"And that's why you're still going to leave the day after
tomorrow," said Tess flatly. "Perhaps George will change
your mind."
"No, we both need six months."
"George doesn't."
"We're not young and headstrong, you know, and now that I
know we're going to marry I want the preliminaries that go with it—
not a happiness built on grief. We need the time it will take to let the
last year or so slip into

perspective."
 Tess pressed out her cigarette, gave a long glance at the other
woman's clear profile. Normally, she was sure, Frances was a serene
person. Was there any swift way
of assisting her back to serenity? Tess felt too immature to make
a decision; she could only be honest, and hope
it would help.
She asked carefully, "Did George tell you what happene
to Anita?"

"On the telephone? Yes, he said you and she were in a canoe
that leaked, (hat you'd both swum for it and reached land, but Anita
had had to negotiate a steep rocky bank and had fallen. A fatal
concussion, he called

182

E^it."

: ""That's . . . not quite true. It's what everyone surmised,

Band I didn't deny it. The fact was . . ."
y Tess (old it all in the driest, flattest tones she could
f manage, but even so the living through it all again brought
g a cold sweat to her brow and a pallor to her cheek. Frances §
leaned forward.
 !* "You poor dear," she said quietly. "I had a feeling there
was more to it than George was aware of. Thank you for not telling
him."
"You think he should never be told?"
"I don't know. If the (ime comes, I'U tell him myself."
"Is this a surprise visit as far as he's concerned?"

^ "He may be hoping for it, I told him I'd get in touch | with
him before I left, but after thinking it over I had
to do it in person." She lifted her shoulders, looked away. "If he
weren't the rugged, loyal (ype I wouldn't be in love with him, and in
sticking with Anita he was only acting in character. He knew I'd
always had to take care of myself and look after patients as well, but
Anita was like a thin flame, blown all ways by her own desires and

, capable, if she weren't' watched, of causing a major con-

flagration. Her hate for me was natural in such a person. I nursed her
mother, was closer to the woman than Anita had ever been, and then
George and I ... well, Anita

: couldn't take it. He was the one human being she could

trust and depend on. She couldn't take her mother away from
me, but' it v/as something of a triumph to part me from the man I
hoped to marry. She tried hard, even before Larry died." Frances
sighed. "If one could have taken her in hand, made her grow out of
the childish voice and jangling bracelets and that unhappy restless-
ness . . ." .
She didn't finish; there was no need. Gradually she and Tess -
drifted from the subject. Frances took a look at the lake, had a wash
and ate lunch on the stoep. Then they strolled in the woods, and
Frances talked of her life in Vancouver and questioned Tess about
England and her years at Kenegan. To Tess that afternoon was like a
balm spread over the raw places in her mind; it soothed them.

By five, when she had to give a hand in the kitchen, Tess felt as
if she and Frances Brodie had been friends for

1.83

ever. The disparity in (hen- ages had been overcome by the need
to get everything said quickly, before the men appeared. As she tipped
shelled peas from their polythene bag and washed them, she found
herself rather glad that she would not witness the meeting between
Frances and George. If she could have managed it, she would have
contrived that they meet entirely alone. As George used his own car
and Roland invariably travelled with Steve in the estate car, even that
might be possible.
 She heard the cars arrive, but nothing else. The wood stove was
crackling, the tap running, water boiling and Mrs. Patten's slippers
flapping backwards and forwards as she examined the casserole
chicken and the broiled ham, the vegetables, the blueberry pie, and
between times tossed
the salad.
Roland breezed into the kitchen. "Well, well, women

galore in the house. You might have rootled one out for me!"

"To complete the color scheme we need a titian," Tess said.

"No more redheads, I'd rather go stag! You've got to come and
have a drink with us. Steve's orders."

Tess hesitated, and Mrs. Patten urged, "Yes, you go along, Tess,
I'll serve the soup at six-thirty prompt. That'll give you all time to go
out for the evening, if you want to."
So Tess untied her apron, pushed back a whitish wave

hair and squared her shoulders. For some reason she was^ glad
to be wearing her black skirt with a pink and white striped blouse. She
entered the lounge with Roland, auto-matically looked at George. For
the first time he was showing a little of what he felt—a cautious relief
that was near to happiness. Had Tess thought before acting she
would never have done what she did then. She-crossed to
him and kissed his cheek.
"Why, Tess," Roland simpered coyly, "George didn't
kaow you cared!".

She laughed, nervily. "I daren't do it before Frances came in

case he misunderstood."

A glass was put into her hand and she looked up at Steve. The
smile left her eyes, but she clung to it with her lips, and thanked him.
He placed a chair for her, and sat half facing her as he lifted his glass.

184

^'SSI^SW^'S

"This calls for a toast. To Frances and George—their next

meeting!"
Tess drank, and asked, "So he can't persuade you to

stay, Frances?"
The older woman shook her head. "I'm committed for
 three months, at least. It'll soon pass."

"Couldn't you even hang on here an extra day?"

"I wish I could, but packing (he whole of one's posses-sions is a

big job. I just have to get away tomorrow."

George said, "I'll go with you to Vancouver and see you

off."
"No, I'd weaken, and I mustn't. Besides, if you came in my car
you couldn't get back without a lot of trouble. I can easily manage the
return trip—I came alone."

Had George been the type to air his emotions he nughSall have
said a great deal just then; instead he looked^l^H

he hated the thought of her going off alonij^^^^H alone and

taking herself right across the ^^^^^^^B

It was then that Tess dispassionately con^^^^^^H thing which

had been hovering on the border ^i^^^^B since lunch-time. She sat
back, tightened the Q'^^IHH
 hid in her skirt pocket, and said clearly: '"•" "May I go with you,
Frances? I have to get a boat at

Halifax and I'd be so relieved not to have to travel thousands of

miles across Canada on my own. I could

pack tonight. Would you . . ."

"Don't go any further," said Steve curtly. "You're

staying here."
Quite steadily, still looking at Frances, Tess stated, "It's not
spur-of-the-moment. I really do have to leave Canada very soon, and
I'd love to make the trip with you."

"You're not going," said Steve. "Forget it, Frances." Tess looked
down at the drink on the low table. "It's no
concern of yours, Steve. No one can stop me—not even you.
You're more or less the owner here now, and you have Mrs. Patten to
keep house. I'm superstitious, and believe it or not, I'm longing to go
home."

The grey eyes glittered dangerously. "We'll talk about it later."

 "There's nothing to talk about. When you took over Garth House
I wasn't in the contract. The attorney told

185

you that you have my mother's confidence and that should be

enough. If Frances will have me, I'm going with her."

It was Ronald who spoke next, hurriedly. "Don't start

a war, Tess. This is a happy occasion. Talk everything over with

Steve after dinner."
"You keep out of this!" said Steve.
"I only tried ..."
"Please," begged Tess, with a catch in her voice. "Isn't it much
better for me to travel with someone than to
travel alone?"
Steve's fist thudded just once on the table. "Will you be quiet!
You're not going—that's final."
She managed a sudden hard bright smile. "I am going.
^That's final, too. In fact," she stood up, "I'm going to start •—
d.ng right now. If Frances doesn't want me I'll go in my
 ^^^^^•h^t word her voice broke. She shoved away her

^^^^^^^•^ " few quick paces towards the stairs. But ^^^^^^•pp
with her, grabbed her elbow and literally ^^^^^^^Rutdoors, into the
gold light of sunset.

^^^^•Re left at the table in the lounge exchanged ^i^^giances.

Naturally, Roland was the first to recover.
"Gosh! What do you think he'll do to her?"

^ Frances smiled. "He'll either put her car out of commis-

sion and lock her up till I've gone, or come back with her in about half
an hour. One of them has to be first to

give in."
Roland laughed and drained his glass, laughed again,
delightedly, at his own thoughts. Then with an exaggerated "Will you
two be all right alone?" he got up and went upstairs to change.
Neither George nor Frances said anything for a long time. He
had slipped his hand over hers on the arm of he chair and didn't move
again till she said:
"Just the bare three months, George. No longer."
* * *
Tess, meanwhile, was being marched down the footpath
 towards the lake. In her throat was a lump that felt like a piece
of coal, and at the back of her eyes a dozen needles
were jostling. She tried to pull her arm from Steve's
grasp.
"You're hurting me."

186

Just slightly, his fingers slackened, but he sounded cold and

savage as he answered, "I hope so. I hope the pain is waking you up.
It's about time!" He stopped then, forced her to face him before he let
her go. "I've had about as much of this as I can swallow. It's bad
enough when the enmity is private, but when you flash it for everyone
to see it's time to do a bit of analysis. I wouldn't have be-lieved you
could behave like that in front of the others!"

Tess rubbed the arm he had released. "I didn't behave

unnaturally. It was you. I have a right to leave with Frances if I want
to, and you've no right at all to play the dictator. You can't impose
your will on me, Steve.

I ... I won't have it."

 The quiver in the last sentence seemed to halt the flow of his
thoughts. He said abruptly, "I'm not letting you go—that's flat. Some
time you'll tell me the truth about

a few things, and then maybe we'll be able to talk without

throwing knives. Till then, you're staying—without ques-tion or
argument." She said nothing, and he asked prob-ingly, "What about
it? It's up to you."

She shook her lowered head. "Where you're concerned nothing

is ever up to me. I couldn't possibly guide your actions."

"That's where you're wrong. Just lately I've been guided by

nothing and no one else. And I'm not only tired of it_ it's sending me
crazy. So lefs try a spot of honesty shall we?"

"About . , . what?"

"Everything. I haven't badgered you for details about that day

with Anita. If you remember, I helped you out with your explanation
that morning. But now I want the truth—all of it."

"There's nothing to tell—except that I wasn't to blame,

 "To blame! You?" He was glinting down at her "Is that what
you've been thinking—that I'd decided the whole thing was your
fault?"

She lifted her shoulders a little hopelessly. "I could see how you
arrived at it ... but it wasn't like that. I couldnt tell you then because I
didn't want George to know, but things are different now." She looked
at him.

187

"Steve, I don't want to say anything against Anita—not unless

you want me to."

"Supposing I prompt you," he said grimly. "Supposing I tell you

that while you were under the sedative I searched for clues and found
an envelope full of shredded dollar bills. You wouldn't tear up money;
I'm sure of that."

"No. No, I didn't. But I asked for it, really. It was through me
that George went down to Vancouver and saw Frances, and it was a
letter that Frances wrote after-wards that caused most of the trouble.
Anita read it and flew into a rage; she grabbed my purse and ripped
up the money . . . but she did replace it afterwards."
 "And then what?" he asked quietly, mercilessly.

Tess lowered her head. "She apologized, begged me to show my

forgiveness by spending the day with her. Beyond our own stretch of
water I'm not very familiar with the lake, and we'd been in and out of
dozens of little bays

and inlets when we came to ... to the rocky part of if. I ... it
makes me feel rather . . . sick now ... to re-member that we picnicked
at the foot of that . . . that column of rock . . ."

"All right." He was gentle but unsmiling. "Go on, if you can."

"She ... she said (he Gregorys lived up there; she was going to
ask them if we could borrow a motor-boat for a short cruise down to
the islands. I was to canoe round to the landing stage."

"God," he said under his breath. "That canoe . . . those waters.

You couldn't manage it in a sound one, let alone that thing. How soon
did it start to leak?"

She bit at the inside of her lip, rubbed her fist in a curiously
youthful gesture against her chin. "It was leaking when we started out,
but Anita' bailed while I paddled. Steve, I..."
 "Come on," he said, almost pleadingly, "there can't be much
more."

"Well . . . somehow I'd lost the bailing tin."

"Lost it?"

"It wasn't in the canoe. By the time I knew that, Anita had
disappeared and I was too far from the bank to . . .

A— »>

^i^.ius.Wi'.'.ste^^-^tiss^'^wss^iw.-^aie^^S^^^^i®^^

The clammy sensation wasn't quite so bad as when she had

related it all to Frances, but she felt the coldness over her skin, the
need to close her eyes against the last glimpse of Anita in the gay
sweater and white skirt. Then suddenly

she felt warmth and support. Steve was holding her so tightly
that every breath of chill and fright was gone.
 "That's enough," he was saying thickly, against her hair. "I
suspected something like that; it's been torturing me. And you
wouldn't say a word about it!"

"I didn't know how you felt about Anita," came her muffled
reply.

"Maybe not. But you must have known a little of what I felt
about you! You don't feel angry and tender and full

of need about someone without showing it. You knew what you
were doing to me—you must have known!"
"I'don't know what you mean," she whispered.
"Then I'll show you! A while ago I said I wouldn't kiss you
again till you begged me to. I'm not a man to break my word, but
you'd better start begging . . . quick!"

She raised her head, and it was enough. His kisses sent wild
tremors along her nerves. Half swooning, wholly ecstatic, she slipped
her arms about his neck and felt
herself drawn up to her toe-tips.

He was kissing her hard and hungrily, almost cruelly, and his
hand gripped and moved over her shoulders as if
he had to feel to believe.
 At last he just held her, breathless, close to him.
"Frightened?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she breathed. "But. I like it."
She felt his brief, silent laughter. "Think you can bear it for the
rest of your life?"
"I want to, Steve. If only . . ."

"None of that; it's been worse for me than for you. If you'd
trusted me there wouldn't have been any of the damned misery and
frustration. You pride yourself on your wisdom—so you knew I loved
you."
"Not love, Steve. I knew there was something . . .
something different between you and me, but I'm so ....

so unsophisticated, and you didn't treat me as if it was love."

"Hell, at the beginning I didn't know myself! I only knew I

wanted to take care of you, give you gay young

189

times. Remember how I recommended (hat you have fun with

the youngsters?"
 "D'you still think that?"

"Try it and see! You should have had that fun before I met you;
it's too late now."

"I don't want it." A short silence. Then she asked slowly, "Were
you at all fond of Anita? Don't be cross. I have to know."

"No one is ever fond-of a girl like Anita," he said de-liberately.

"She had looks and the money to dress them, a flair for making
herself agreeable and appealing. When
she first arrived I meant us all to be matey, to go out
to the club a lot in a group. It would have done her good— so I
thought—and was just the sort of thing you needed. But young
Nieland stepped in and you dropped out. I found myself left with
Anita, and for George's sake, and

also in the hope of hurting you a bit, I took her out with Pelton
folk. There was no joy in it, I assure you!"

"You . . . you gave her your photograph," she said almost

inaudibly.
"I didn't—if you mean the snapshot I found in her bed-
room. That was taken by a kid at the club. She's fourteen, and I
taught her how to retrieve a dropped handkerchief
 from the back of a horse. She became quite a fan, showed me
the snap and asked me to sign it. No one was more surprised than I
when I came across it on that dressing chest when Mrs. Patten and I
were clearing the room. Anita must have lifted it somehow; it would
be quite easy, in the ladies' dressing-room at the club." A pause. "Did
she show it to you?"

"No, I saw it accidentally. Steve, she was so beautiful .. . and

misguided . . ."

"And she could never have been happy," he said tersely. "Get
that into your head. I'm sure that even George
realizes it."
"I hope so. George is a dear, and Frances is just right for him. I
do wish she wouldn't leave him."

"I think it's best, though I'll see that he goes down to Vancouver
with her tomorrow. You know, a man who's given so much to
someone like Anita is bound to feel empty when he loses her. George
has to recoup himself,

190
 channel all that loyalty and fortitude towards Frances, and it'll
take time."
"But he's already loved her for years."

He said firmly, "That's their concern. From now on you mind

our business. Do you hear?"
She smiled up at him. "Yes, you bully. You are a bully, you
know. You were pretty horrid to poor Dick the first time you saw
him."

"It didn't need two of us to drool over the guy. And why the
heck didn't you say at once that you wouldn't marry him?"
"To me it seemed obvious. And I can't think that you believed in
it either."

"I didn't, but it nagged . . . like a good many other things. I kept
trying you out, trying to make you say he meant nothing to you. But
you wouldn't, and I was in

no state to believe the best. Even your friendliness with Kain put
me on edge. To me, you were safe only with
George!"
She laughed, and held his arms tightly. "I'm terribly sorry I
spoke to you as I did in front of the others a little while ago.
Something sort of ... urged me on. I had to find out just how you'd
take it—my wanting to leave with Frances."
"I'll make you atone for that," he said. "Feel right, now?"
"Magnificent!"
"Hungry?"
"I believe I am. It's getting dark, and I'm sure Mrs. Patten will be
flurried."
"We'll eat, and then go out somewhere. Tomorrow I'll take you
down to see the house. Even old George doesn't know I planned to
live in the new manager's house myself. You'll love it—compact, yet
spacious, everything up-to-date. Nothing like Garth House!"
"But I've loved Garth House too. I'll be sorry to leave

"We're certainly not going to set up home in a barracks. We'll

make it a hobby—modernize it, build a few chalets and a pier, and as
soon as the road is tarred we'll put it
up for sale. Maybe one day we'll come back from Toronto and
stay at Garth House." He grinned. "By then they may ^ have a Tepee
Village and a curio shop."

191

She looked down at the darkening lake through a tangle of

branches. "I couldn't bear it, but I think my mother would like it
because my father wanted it. I do hope we can get her to come back to
Canada, if only for a visit."

"She'll come—I'll see to that," he said confidently. "I have a

warm corner for Garth House myself, and neither of us could possibly
forget it."

"I only want to remember it as it is tonight. You and me, and the
house with a few friendly people in it." She slid a hand into his. "I'd
like (his to go on for ever."

"I wouldn't," he said softly, just above her ear. "I want Kain to
clear out, and George take the job he was offered at head office. I
want to live in that new house with you, and it can't be too soon."

"Do you ever think about that house in Quebec—the one your
father bought for your mother?"

He gripped the hand he held. "I'm thinking-of it right now. If we

get married at once—before the railway is finished and while George
is still here—I can take a week or two off and we could spend a
honeymoon there. It's a house near a lake, but not like this. Your
house, Tess."

"Oh, Steve!"
 "We could cable your mother — get her over here in time."

"Darling," she said shakily.

When at last they forced themselves to walk back to the house,

Tess felt light-headed. Pale lamplight shone in the half darkness from
the lounge, but in the stoep it was dim, and wordlessly they stopped
and looked into each other's eyes. Steve took her face between those
lean strong hands and smiled gently. His voice was indistinct,
unsteady with controlled passion.

"I love you, Tess — your spirit and pluck, that silky hair and
your eyes and lips, and your absurd compassion and your prickly
pride. You're the girl I've been waiting for all my life. I guess the
laugh's on me, and I don't care!"

Her lashes were wet, her lips quivered into a smile. She couldn't
speak, could only look what she felt — that this infinite tenderness in
every fibre of two human beings was the essence of loving and being
loved. And for herself

and Steve it was only the beginning.

THE END