The Odds. Ethel M. Dell

ready! I must get a few things together first, mustn't I?"

      Jack laughed a little. "You look very nice in what you've got."

      "Oh, don't be silly!" she said. "If I'm going to live at Wallacetown—Wallacetown, mind you, the smartest place this side of Sydney—I must be respectably clothed. I shall have to go to Trelevan, and see what I can find."

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

      "What about you?" she said, squeezing his arm.

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI

       Table of Contents

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS

       Table of Contents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      They took her at her word, though neither of them seemed in any hurry to depart. Dot lingered because the prospect of a tête-à-tête in a strange place, where she could not easily make her escape if she desired to do so, embarrassed her. And Hill waited, as his custom was, with a grim patience that somehow only served to increase her reluctance to be alone with him.

      "Run along! It's getting late," Adela said at last. "Carry her off, Mr. Hill! You'll never get her to make the first move."

      There was some significance in words and smile. Dot stiffened and turned sharply away.

      Hill followed her, and outside the room she waited for him.

      "Do you know the way?" she asked, without looking at him.

      He took her by the arm, and again she had a wayward thought of the hand of the law. She knew now what it felt like to be marshalled by a policeman. She almost uttered a remark to that effect, but, glancing up at him, decided that it would be out of place. For the man's harsh features were so sternly set that she wondered if Adela's careless talk had aroused his anger.

      She said nothing, therefore, and he led her to the retreat her sister-in-law had mentioned in unbroken silence. It was certainly not a very artistic corner. A few straggling plants in pots decorated it, but they looked neglected and shabby. Yet the thought went through her, it might have been a bower of delight had they been in the closer accord of lovers who desire naught but each other.

      The place was deserted, lighted only by a high window that looked into a billiard-room. The window was closed, but the rattle of the balls and careless voices of the players came through the silence. A dusty bench was let into the wall below it.

      "Do you like this place?" asked Fletcher Hill.

      She glanced around her with a little nervous laugh. "It's as good as any other, isn't it?"

      His hand still held her arm. He bent slightly, looking into her face. "I've been wanting to talk to you," he said.

      "Have you?" She tried to meet his look, but failed. "What about?" she said, almost in a whisper.

      He bent lower. "Dot, are you afraid of me?" he said.

      That brought her eyes to his face with a jerk. "I—I—no—of course not!" she stammered, in confusion.

      "Quite sure?" he said.

      She collected herself with an effort. "Quite," she told him with decision, and met his gaze with something of a challenge in her own.

      But he disconcerted her the next moment. She felt again the man's grim mastery behind the iron of his patience. "I want to talk to you," he said, "about our marriage."

      "Ah!" It was scarcely more than a sharp intake of the breath, and as it escaped again Dot turned white to the lips. His close scrutiny became suddenly more than she could bear, and she turned sharply from him.

      He kept his hand upon her arm, but he made no further effort to restrain her, merely waiting mutely for her to speak.

      In the room behind them there came the smart knocking of the balls, and a voice cried, "By Jove, he's fluked again! It's the devil's own luck!"

      Dot flinched a little. The careless voice jarred upon her. Her nerves were all on edge. Fletcher Hill's hand was like a steel trap, cold and firm and merciless. She longed to wrench herself free from it, yet felt too paralysed to move.

      And still he waited, not urging her, yet by his very silence making her aware of a compulsion she could not hope to resist for long.

      She turned to him at last in desperation.