The Odds. Ethel M. Dell
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Dot will like that best?"
He nodded again. "Be careful! She's coming. Here's Robin!"
Robin came in, wagging his tail and smiling, and behind him came Dot. She moved slowly, as if dispirited. Jack's quick eyes instantly detected the fact that she had been shedding tears.
"You're too late, little 'un," he said, with kindly cheeriness. "The work is all done."
She looked from him to Adela. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said. "I'm afraid I forgot about supper."
"Oh, you're in love!" joked Adela. "You'll forget to come in at all one of these days."
The girl gave her a swift look, but said nothing, passing through with a weary step on her way to her own room.
Robin followed her closely, as one in her confidence; and Jack laid a quiet hand on his wife's arm.
"Don't laugh at her!" he said.
She stared at him. "Good gracious, Jack! What's the matter? I didn't mean anything."
"I know you didn't. But this thing is serious. If Fletcher Hill comes to-night, I believe she'll have him—that is, if she's let alone. But she won't if you twit her with it. It's touch and go."
Jack spoke with great earnestness. It was evident that the matter was one upon which he felt very strongly, and Adela shrugged a tolerant shoulder and yielded to his persuasion.
"I'll be as solemn as a judge," she promised. "The affair certainly has hung fire considerably. It would be a good thing to get it settled. But Fletcher Hill! Well, he wouldn't be my choice!"
"He's a fine man," asserted Jack.
"Oh, I've no doubt. But he's an animal with a nasty bite, or I am much mistaken. However, let Dot marry him by all means if she feels that way! It's certainly high time she married somebody."
She turned aside to put the teapot on the hob, humming inconsequently, and the subject dropped.
Jack went to his room to wash, and in a few minutes more they gathered round the supper-table with careless talk of the doings of the day.
It had always been Dot's favourite time, the supper-hour. In the old days before Jack's marriage she had looked forward to it throughout the day. The companionship of this beloved brother of hers had been the chief joy of her life.
But things were different now. It was her part to serve the meal, to clear the table, and to wash the dishes Jack and Adela were complete without her. Though they always welcomed her when the work was done, she knew that her society was wholly unessential, and she often prolonged her labours in the scullery that she might not intrude too soon upon them. She was no longer necessary to anyone—except to Robin the faithful, who followed her as her shadow. She had become Number Three, and she was lonely—she was lonely!
CHAPTER III
FLETCHER HILL
There came a sound of hoofs thudding over the pastures. Robin lifted his eyebrows and cocked his ears with a growl.
Dot barely glanced up from the saucepan she was cleaning; her lips tightened a little, that was all.
The hoofs drew rapidly nearer, dropping from a canter to a quick trot that ended in a clattering walk on the stones of the yard. Through the open window Dot heard the heavy thud of a man's feet as he jumped to the ground.
Then came Jack's voice upraised in greeting. "Hallo, Fletcher! Come in, man! Come in! Delighted to see you."
The voice that spoke in answer was short and clipped. Somehow it had an official sound. "Hallo, Jack! Good evening, Mrs. Burton! What! Alone?"
Jack laughed. "Dot's in the kitchen. Hi! little 'un! Bring some drinks!"
Robin was on his feet, uttering low, jerky barks. Dot put aside her saucepan and began to wash her hands. She did not hasten to obey Jack's call, but when she turned to collect glasses on a tray she was trembling and her breath came quickly, as if from violent exercise.
Nevertheless she did not hesitate, but went straight through to the little parlour, carrying her tray with the jingling glasses upon it.
Fletcher Hill was facing her as she entered, a tall man, tough and muscular, with black hair that was tinged with grey, and a long stubborn jaw that gave him an indomitable look. His lips were thin and very firm, with a sardonic twist that imparted a faintly supercilious expression. His eyes were dark, deep-set, and shrewd. He was a magistrate of some repute in the district, a position which he had attained by sheer unswerving hard work in the police force, in which for years he had been known as "Bloodhound Hill." A man of rigid ideas and stern justice, he had forced his way to the front, respected by all, but genuinely liked by only a very few.
Jack Burton had regarded him as a friend for years, but even Jack could not claim a very close intimacy with him. He merely understood the man's silences better than most. His words were very rarely of a confidential order.
He was emphatically not a man to attract any girl very readily, and Dot's attitude towards him had always been of a strictly impersonal nature. In fact, Jack himself did not know whether she really liked him or not. Yet had he set his heart upon seeing her safely married to him. There was no other man of his acquaintance to whom he would willingly have entrusted her. For Dot was very precious in his eyes. But to his mind Fletcher Hill was worthy of her, and he believed that she would be as safe in his care as in his own.
That Fletcher Hill had long cherished the silent ambition of winning her was a fact well known to him. Only once had they ever spoken on the subject, and then the words had been few and briefly uttered. But to Jack, who had taken the initiative in the matter, they had been more than sufficient to testify to the man's earnestness of purpose. From that day he had been heart and soul on Fletcher's side.
He wished he could have given him a hint that evening as he looked up to see the girl standing in the doorway; for Dot was so cold, so aloof in her welcome. He did not see what Hill saw at the first glance—that she was quivering from head to foot with nervous agitation.
She set down her tray and gave her hand to the visitor. "Doesn't Rupert want a drink?" she said.
Rupert was his horse, and his most dearly prized possession. Hill's rare smile showed for a moment at the question.
"Let him cool down a bit first," he said. "I am afraid I've ridden him rather hard."
She gave him a fleeting glance. "You have come from Trelevan?"
"Yes. I got there this afternoon. We left Wallacetown early this morning."
"Rode all the way?" questioned Jack.
"Yes, every inch. I wanted to see the Fortescue Gold Mine."
"Ah! There's a rough crowd there," said Jack. "They say all the uncaught criminals find their way to the Fortescue Gold Mine."
"Yes," said Hill.
"Is it true?" asked Adela, curiously.
"I am not in a position to say, madam." Hill's voice sounded sardonic.
"That means he doesn't know," explained Jack. "Look here, man! If you've ridden all the way from Wallacetown to-day you can't go back to Trelevan to-night. Your animal must be absolutely used up—if you are not."
"Oh, I think not. We are both tougher than that." Hill turned towards him. "Don't mix it too strong, Jack! I hardly ever touch it except under your roof."
"I am indeed honoured," laughed Jack. "But if you're going to spend the night you'll be able to sleep it