see the finish of that fifty dollars, Derek. You had better go with her."
"No," replied Derek, shortly. He had not appeared abroad with Fawnie yet, and he was in no hurry to do so. On the few occasions when he had gone to either of the villages alone, he had found himself an embarrassed object of interest. In the Duke of York he had seen a man nudge his neighbour and heard him whisper: "There's Mr. Vale, from down Mistwell way—him that married an Indian girl lately. They've got a tidy boy already, 'tis said, dark as a Arab, but his hair—man, they say it's as light as gold."
No . . . he would give Fawnie the fifty dollars and let her enjoy herself in her own way.
She had carried the child to bed. Derek had helped her up the steep steps in the rock, and, when she had been swallowed by the darkness above, he wheeled and went down the shingle to the breakwater.
"There's something I want you to do for me, Ted," he said huskily.
"Fire away."
"You know that chestnut of Grace's?"
"Darby? Oh, yes."
"He's up for sale tomorrow. I want you to go and buy him in for me. I can't bear to think of her being without him."
"Aren't they keeping a horse at all?"
"Just the big grey that Mr. Jerrold rides. You see he can be driven in the trap as well. Darby has never been harnessed."
"How high will you go?"
"High enough to get him. But I don't believe it will be
