Jack hesitated scarcely a second. He could not take his gaze from this superb young creature, whose every motion charmed, whose deep eyes glowed with such a divine warmth of molten gold. "Thanks awf'lly, but I really can't stay." He bowed to one and another, turned upon Joyce that look of dumb worship she had seen on the faces of many men, and swung off into the pines, as elastic-heeled, confident, and competent a youth as any of them had seen in many a day. India's eyes danced. She was Irish enough to enjoy a situation so unusual. "Snubbed, Joyce, by a highwayman," she laughed. But Joyce merely smiled. She knew what she knew. "If you ask me, he's got the deuce of a cheek, you know," Verinder fumed. Miss Kilmeny pounced instantly upon him. "Referring to our cousin, Mr. Verinder?" she demanded sweetly. "But--er--you said yourself----" "That was all in the family," she informed him promptly. Joyce came to the assistance of Verinder with one confidential glance of her incredibly deep eyes of velvet. "Of course he's cheeky. How could he be India's cousin and not be that?" she asked with a rippling little laugh. "Come and help me spread the tablecloth, Mr. Verinder." Deeply grateful, the millionaire flew to assist. CHAPTER VI LORD FARQUHAR GIVES MOYA A HINT Verinder's man, Biggs, who had been a fascinated spectator of the Wild West sports at Gunnison, was describing them to Fisher, maid to Lady Farquhar and general buttoner-up-the-back to the entire feminine contingent of the party. "What do you mean when you say a horse bucks?" she wanted to know. "'E throws down 'is 'ead and 'e throws up 'is 'eels and you cawn't remain," he explained, without entire originality. "Fancy now!" "Consequence is the rider lands himpromptu on _terra firma_, so to hexpress it." "Dear me. But doesn't it make him dusty, Mr. Biggs?" "A bit." "Couldn't Captain Kilmeny ride one of the bronchos?" "I've 'eard that the captain is a crack rider, none better in the harmy, Miss Fisher. 'E could ride the blawsted brute if it wouldn't 'ide its bloomin' 'ead between its legs." Moya, patrolling the willow walk in front of the Lodge, took this in with a chuckle. It was a still night, save only for the rushing waters of the river. The lamps of the sky had all been lit and were gleaming coldly millions of miles away. The shadowed moonlight in the trees offered a stage set to lowered lights.