Quick Action Part 27

After a moment's idling in the sand with her slim fingers, she looked up at him a trifle pale.

"I suppose this means a lawsuit."

"I'm afraid it does."

"I'm sorry. If I wasn't in such desperate need of money----" But she said no more, and he also remained silent for a while. Then:

"I shall write to my attorney to come down," he said soberly. "You had better do the same this evening."

She nodded.

"It's got to be settled, of course," he continued; "because I'm too poor to concede the quarry to you."

"It is that way with me also. I do not like to appear so selfish to you, but what am I to do, Mr. Gray?"

"What am _I_ to do? I honestly believe that I staked the quarry before you did.... And my financial situation does not permit me to relinquish my claim on the quarry."

"What a horrid will that was!" she exclaimed, the quick tears of vexation springing into her brown eyes. "If you knew how hard I've worked, Mr. Gray--all these years having nothing that other girls have--being obliged to work my way through college, and then take a position as governess--and just as it seemed that relief was in sight--_you_ come into sight!--you!--and you even try to take away my little dog--the only thing I--I ever really cared for since I have--have been alone in the world----"

Gray sprang up nervously: "I'm sorry--terribly sorry for you! You may keep the dog anyway."

She had turned away her face sharply as the quick tears started. Now she looked around at him in unfeigned surprise.

"But--what will _you_ do?"

"Oh, I can stand being alone. I don't mind. There's no doubt about it; you must have the dog----" He glanced down at the little creature and caught his breath sharply as the puppy opened one eye and wagged its absurd tail feebly.

The girl rose lightly and gracefully from the sand, refusing his a.s.sistance, and stood looking down at the puppy. The little thing was on its clumsy feet, wagging and wriggling with happiness, and gazing up adoringly from Gray to Constance Leslie.

The girl looked at the dog, then at Gray.

"It--it seems too cruel," she said. "I can't bear to take him away from you."

"Oh, that's all right. I'll get on very well alone."

"You are generous. You are very generous. But after the way you expressed yourself concerning the dog, I don't feel that I can possibly take him."

"You really must. I don't blame you at all for falling in love with him.

Besides, one adores what one rescues, above everything in the world."

"But--but I thought that you thought _you_ had rescued him?" she faltered.

"It was a close call. I think perhaps that you arrived just a fraction of a second sooner than I did."

"Do you really? Or do you say that to be kind? Besides, I am not at all sure. It is perfectly possible--even, perhaps, probable that you saw him before I did."

"No, I don't think so. I think he's your dog, Miss Leslie. I surrender all claim to him----"

"No! I can not permit you to do such a thing! Forgive me. I was excited and a little vexed.... I know you would be very unhappy if I took the little thing----"

"Please take him. I do love him already, but that is why it gives me a p-p-peculiar pleasure to relinquish all claims in y-your favour."

"Thank you. It is--is charming of you--exceedingly nice of you--but how can I accept such a real sacrifice?... You would be perfectly wretched to-night without him."

"So would you, Miss Leslie."

"I shall be wretched anyway. So it doesn't really matter."

"It _does_ matter! If this little dog can alleviate your unhappiness in the slightest degree, I insist most firmly that you take him!"

The girl stood irresolute, lifted her brown eyes to his, lowered them, and gazed longingly at the puppy.

"Do you suppose he will follow me?"

"Try!"

So she walked one way and Gray started in the opposite direction, and the bewildered puppy, who at first supposed it was all in play, dashed from one back to the other, until the widening distance between them perplexed and finally began to trouble him.

Nevertheless, he continued to run back and forth from Gray to Constance Leslie as long as his rather wavering legs held out. Then, unable to decide, he stood panting midway between them, whining at moments, until, unable to understand or endure the spectacle of his two best beloveds vanis.h.i.+ng in opposite directions, he put up his nose and howled.

Then both best beloveds came back running, and Constance s.n.a.t.c.hed him to her breast and covered him with caresses.

"What on earth are we to do?" she said in consternation. "We nearly broke his heart that time."

"_I_ don't know what to do," he admitted, much perplexed. "This pup seems to be impartial in his new-born affections."

"I thought," she said, with an admirable effort at self-denial, "that he rather showed a preference for _you_!"

"Why?"

"Because when he was sitting there howling his little heart out, he seemed to look toward you a little oftener than he gazed in my direction."

Gray rose n.o.bly to the self-effacing level of his generous adversary:

"No, the balance was, if anything, in your favour. I'm very certain that he will be happier with you. T-take him!"

The girl buried her pretty face in the puppy's coat as though it had been a fluffy m.u.f.f.

"What a pity," she said, in a m.u.f.fled voice, "that he is compelled to make a choice. It will break his heart; I know it will. He is too young."

"He'll very soon forget me, once he is alone with you in your bungalow."

The girl shook her head and stood caressing the puppy. The soft, white hand, resting on the dog's head, fascinated Gray.

"Perhaps," he ventured, "I had better walk as far as your bungalow with you.... It may spare the dog a certain amount of superficial anguish."

She nodded, dreamy-eyed there in the suns.h.i.+ne. And of what she might be thinking he could form no idea.