Wild, Wild Heart/Chapter 13

During the following three weeks Ann had no time to think of anything except her hat shop. The new goods had arrived from London, and she and her two assistants were kept hard at work from early moming till late at night.

Ford’s prediction that all the gossip about her would turn out to be a good advertisement was proving correct. But Ann knew that if it had not been for his wife’s championship of her, the business would have stood very little chance of survival. As it was, the people who were convinced of her innocence showed their sympathy by patronizing her shop. The less charitable ones—those who were inclined to believe there could be no smoke without fire—were also amongst her customers. They were curious to see her; and thus Ann reaped a harvest from both the “fors” and “againsts”—who were at any rate agreed upon one point—that the hats and frocks at “Ann’s” were quite the smartest in town.

She had made a profit-sharing agreement with Mrs. Hill, and the new girl, Ruth Atkins, and consequently they worked long hours quite willingly.

Ann had now to think of finding some other abode for herself. The room behind the shop must be used ​entirely as a workroom very soon. Still, as the weeks rushed by—filled with hard work as they were, they seemed to fly—Ann heard no further news of the case. She had seen nothing either of Rodney or of Waring since their return from the polo tournament. But she received a letter from Dick Holmes in which he spoke of both men. He had written, enclosing the money for the children’s school fees in January.

“I’m not going to thank you again for all you have done for me,” he wrote. “God knows what would have happened to the poor kids if it hadn’t been for you. And as for myself—well, you brought me back to sanity through the worst night of my life. Now that I’m more normal again I can scarcely realize that I was so crazed as to believe death was the only way out for me. Nothing in life is really so terrible that one can’t fight it. And the very fact of facing one’s troubles gives one fresh courage. It would be absurd to say I’m happy—I’m not. But financially things are straightening out for me—Waring has been no end of a brick in putting matters to a certain extent right for me with the bank. He’s a real good friend if ever there was one. As for Vera, I’ve heard no word of her except indirectly through Miller. She is still in Sydney apparently, and has given no further instructions for proceeding with the case. I used to think that nothing in the world could ever weaken my love for my wife. But sometimes now I begin to wonder if it’s strong enough to stand the strain. To serve those damned papers on me, and to leave us—you and me—on the rack in this way seems to me the essence of cruelty—and cruelty, to me, is the unforgivable sin. And to let all these months go by without a sign or a word to her own babies. Can she have no heart at ​all? Thank heaven Biddy and Jo are well and happy at Mrs. Marley’s, though they’re often homesick and are looking forward to their holidays. I suppose I could have them here, if I could get some motherly soul to house-keep for me for a few weeks. It would be great to have them with me for a short time, and it might possibly be arranged, for Waring thinks he could get his married couple to stay here over the holidays. He’ll most probably be away again then. He’s going to Wellington on business. There’s some talk of his cutting up Kopu. The Government may take part of the place over for closer settlement.

“The polo team did well in Hawkeston, and Waring seems rather amused that Rodney made such a hit with everybody during the tournament. Apparently the women made no end of a fuss of him. He’s a good-looking lad, and I’ve always thought a lot of him, though lately it has seemed to me that he’s avoided me. I’m quite sure this isn’t because of my changed circumstances. He isn’t the sort to desert the sinking ship. In fact he very generously offered to stay on for next to nothing, but that wouldn’t have helped me, except that I’d have liked his companionship, so I made him take this droving job. Perhaps it’s only my imagination that he’s changed. When one’s position is altered one’s apt to fancy slights when they aren’t intended, I think. Not that I’ve had any to put up with. Everybody’s been no end kind to me.”

Ann read this letter with a little pang of something that she realized was very like jealousy. Yet she was generous enough to be glad that Rodney had been as Holmes put it, “made a fuss of.” And though they were never likely to be more tham friends in future, she was conscious of a little thrill of pride in hearing ​of his success. The remarks concerning Waring gave her some food for thought. Was the help that he had extended to Holmes given by way of conscience money? Hardly that, for she recognized quite clearly that Waring was not the sort of man to be troubled by pangs of conscience with regard to anything that had happened between himself and Vera. Moral scruples did not bother him. Yet in his way, he was attached to Dick Holmes, and, it was clear, that he would do all in his power to help him. Human nature was an odd mixture! Very few people were actually pure white or jet black. A varying shade of gray was the normal hue of most men and women.

The autumn had definitely come, and still Vera made no sign.

In spite of the brave face Ann showed to the world, she dreaded more and more the prospect of being publicly pilloried in the Divorce Court. And the strain of the hard work entailed by her increasing business, the little hidden grief of heartache, and the consciousness of this sword of Damocles suspended above her head, all combined to wear her out. She was thinner, whiter, and more fragile than she had been formerly.

Life in the little town flowed on quite evenly. There was a nip of frost in the morning and evening air; or there were days of driving rain. The willows by the river were turning yellow. Golf had begun again, and hunting was commencing.

Rhoda Hemingway made an effort to induce Ann to accompany her to the big afternoon tea which she ​gave at the Golf Club House on the opening day. But Ann felt too self-conscious and unhappy to attend any large gathering of this sort.

Stephanie was to stay on in town with her grand-mother for a few weeks, for the hunting, and golf, and the numerous dances at the Cabaret.

“It’s so dull for the poor child stuck away there in the back-blocks, and we love having her with us,” said Mrs. Ford on Thursday morning, when she called to see Ann and to purchase a winter hat. “By the way, Rhoda’s in town today—she’s driving me and the twins out to a meet of the hounds. Stephanie’s riding. Why not come with us in the car?” Ann looked a little doubtful. “You can’t plead business, you know,” went on Mrs. Ford. “It’s early closing day.”

“I’ve always work to do.”

“Nonsense—you’ve had your nose to the grindstone far too much lately. A run into the country and a little fresh air may bring some color into those pale cheeks. We’re taking tea in the car, and shall just follow round as well as we can, and may not see a soul to speak to—not even Stephanie.”

Ann put forward some more excuses, but Mrs. Ford would not listen to any of them.

“That’s settled then. We shall call for you about one-thirty, and you are coming back to dinner with us.”

After her visitor’s departure, Ann began to feel glad that her objections had been overruled. She was tired to death of hats and frocks, and needles and pins, and to see a hunt would be a novel and exciting experience.

She wrapped up warmly, for it was a cold gray day, ​with a southerly wind bringing an occasional splash of rain across the bay.

“I don’t think the showers will be much,” said Rhoda Hemingway. “We can put the hood up if it gets any worse, but we’ll see better with it down.”

The meet was on the property of a sheep-farmer whose place was about eight miles away amongst the foothills; and as the big car left the town behind, and sped along the road inland, Ann, cozily tucked up in rugs behind the windscreens, with her fur collar pulled up to her ears, felt a sense of exhilaration and delight. How foolish she would have been to have refused this invitation! She wouldn’t allow any shadows to darken her mind today—the fresh south wind should blew them all away! The two litte boys chattered beside her. Mrs. Ford turned very often to speak to the three in the back seat; and Rhoda, without taking her eye off the road, occasionally joined in the conversation.

In spite of her ended love-dream, and the dread of the trial ahead, for today at least, Ann knew she was happy. She was thankful for these good friends, and their unremitting kindness; and she knew that time would dull all heartache, and that whatever the future held, she would not be defeated by it. Suppose Vera did succeed in obtaining a divorce on such flimsy evidence, would Holmes then think himself bound to offer himself as a possible husband to the co-respondent? Ann smiled at such a fantastic thought, as she saw herself installed as stepmother to Biddy and Jo. She’d try to be a kind stepmother at any rate! How ridiculous to think of herself in this position!

“We shan’t see the actual meet,” said Rhoda. “We’re too late—but we’re bound to pick them up ​somewhere. They don’t get any very long runs here. The hounds more often than not put up a second and a third hare, or lose the scent in the fern and manuka.”

“Hares! I thought they hunted foxes!”

The twins laughed at her, and hastily corrected her.

“Foxes don’t grow in New Zealand.”

“There never have been none at all, have there, Mum?”

“Not that I know of,” said Rhoda; and she went on:

“The riders spend a good deal of time popping over the wire fences, and pottering about the hillsides and valleys, but they seem to enjoy themselves.”

“Do you mean that they jump the wire fences?”

“Of course. Every one hunts over wire here. Gates aren’t easy to come upon, and no one minds wire.”

Ann again in a flash of memory saw Rodney Marsh on Nigger sailing over the wire fence, to rescue her from the infuriated stallion. But she wouldn’t allow herself to think of Rodney. Nothing should dim her enjoyment of this happy afternoon.

Rhoda, spying the hunt on the hillside to the right of the main road, turned along a side lane, then through a gate, and over a track running across a wide flat paddock. As they drew nearer it was apparent that the hounds had checked, for the riders were grouped together talking, and there were one or two other cars containing onlookers near at hand. And in one of the cars Ann saw, to her surprise, Dick Holmes with Biddy and Jo. The two little girls rushed across to greet her, and Holmes followed them.

“Lovely, lovely, you coming too,” shrieked Biddy, embracing her warmly.

​“Daddy motored down from Tirau this morning with Gerald, and Gerald lent him his car to bring us out,” explained Jo. “Daddy’s sold ours.”

“And we’re going back in the morning in the car to Tirau for our holidays,” said Biddy.

“Gerald isn’t coming. He’s going to Wellington tomorrow.”

“They seem to have told you all the news,” said Holmes to Ann. He had been exchanging greetings with Mrs. Ford and Rhoda while the little girls were shouting at Ann.

Suddenly the hounds gave tongue, and streamed away along the valley with the field behind them, and the conversation took a different turn.

“Look, there’s Stephanie!” said Rhoda. “Boxer’s jumping well, isn’t he, mother? Have you been here long, Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes, we came out early, and brought some sandwiches with us.”

“And hard-boiled eggs,” said Biddy.

“And Mrs. Marley made us tea in her thermometer,” added Jo. Every one laughed except Biddy, who remarked:

“Silly! You mean thermogene.”

At which the twins chorused loudly:

“Thermos, that’s what it is, isn’t it, Mum?”

Hounds and riders had now disappeared over a low ridge of the hills.

“Could we go any further after them?” asked Rhoda.

“I don’t think so,” replied Holmes. “They’ll probably turn at the creek over the hill there, and circle back this way.”

“Have there been any spills?”

​“One or two of the younger contingent have been falling about a bit.”

“Not Stephanie!” said Mrs. Ford, anxiously.

“No,” answered Holmes.

“My dear mother, you needn’t worry over Stephen. She’s as safe as a house always.”

“She’s a very straight goer, and Boxer’s a fine jumper. Marsh’s horse came down with him once. It looked an ugly fall, but there’s no damage done.”

“Rodney’s hunting,” said Biddy to Ann. “We’ve been talking to him.”

“He’s not riding old Nigger. It’s a young horse he’s just bought.”

“You are a silly, Jo. As though he’d ride Nigger now. Why he might crack him up before the races.”

“Rodney’s been riding with Stephanie most the time. Hie seems to like her.”

“Of course he does. She caught his horse for him and waited for him when he came down.”

“You children are talking too much,” said Holmes. “And who gave you permission to call Miss Hemingway by her Christian name?”

“She did,” replied Biddy. “She said if we called Rodney just ‘Rodney’ like that, we’d better call her ‘Stephanie,’ so we did.”

“There’s mushrooms over the hill there,” said Jo to Ann. “Come on and gather some!”

“Let’s go for mushrooms, Mum,” said Peter.

“Oh, yes, let’s,” said Paul, clapping his hands.

“No, I can’t be bothered getting out of the car.”

“I’ll go,” said Ann. “I’d like to.”

She took a basket, and set out over the springy turf with all the children round her, leaving Holmes talking to Mrs. Ford and Rhoda. Under the gray sky the ​wind swept across the paddock, through manuka and rushes to the hills. The clouds were low over the higher bushed slopes. Ann’s feeling of exhilaration and delight was gone, like the sweep of horses and hounds across the crest of the hill. Two lines of “Daisy” came back into her mind:

Why did those sad little lines recur to her? It was the loneliness of the wintry landscape she told herself; and she set to work with the children to gather the thickly-growing mushrooms in the hollow. But after a short time there was a shriek from Biddy.

“Look! Look! There’s a hare!”

The little brown body was streaking away down below them, and in a few moments, hounds in full cry, with all the hunt following in pursuit were visible. Only one or two of the older women were riding on side-saddles—the rest were astride. Over the wire fences they went! How easy it looked! The hare doubled round again, and the hunt came nearer—now one could distinguish the riders.

“Rodney’s horse has balked,” yelled Jo.

Stephanie, riding close behind him, shouted:

“Come on, I’ll give you a lead!” as she passed.

Ann saw her pretty laughing face turned to Marsh. Boxer jumped, and Rodney’s horse did not refuse a second time.

They were farther away now, over the brow of the hill, near to the cars. The children’s interest in the mushrooms suddenly ceased. They raced up the slope, leaving Ann to carry the heavy basket. When they ​got back to the cars the hounds had killed, and the riders had pulled up their winded horses. Stephanie galloped up to the Buick, and greeted her mother and Mrs. Ford. Holmes had collected Biddy and Jo, and was moving away towards his own—or rather, Waring’s—car.

“Granny, I’ve asked Mr. Marsh to dinner tonight,” said Stephanie. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Mrs. Ford looked a little doubtful.

“My dear———”

“Granddad knows him. He likes him.”

“Yes, but———”

Stephanie’s pretty face clouded over.

“You told me I could bring any one I liked home with me.”

“What do you say, Rhoda?"

“It’s all right, I suppose. Apparently he went everywhere in Hawkeston.”

“Granny, don’t be a snob—I’ve met him at the Garlands.”

Mrs. Ford and Rhoda conferred in low tones. Ann moved away from the side of the car. She did not want to hear this discussion. But apparently it ended to Stephanie’s complete satisfaction, for she called out, “Right-o!” cheerfully, and galloped off to rejoin the other riders.

Holmes had come forward towards Ann.

“We’re going to push off shortly,” he said. “I promised Mrs. Marley I’d get the children home early. I’m taking them back to Tirau tomorrow. Waring’s married couple are with me for three weeks, while he’s in Wellington, and he’s lent me his car.”

“That’s nice of him,” she said.

“Yes, he’s been a brick all through.”

​“Have you any news?”

He shook his head.

“I haven’t had a word.” His eyes were on her face. “You’re worrying?”

“Oh, not much!” She tried to speak lightly. “All the same, I wish something would happen. It’s the suspense that’s so . . . so frightfully trying.”

“Yes.” He paused for a minute, and then he said suddenly: “The whole thing’s too damnable for words, I’m beginning to feel that I shall never forgive Vera for all this.”

“Don’t feel like that,” she said earnestly. “I was bitter and angry with her at first—I’m not now—I’m sorry for her.”

He looked at her in some surprise.

“Sorry for her!” he echoed. “I can’t quite see why.”

“She’s unhappy—I always feel sorry for people who aren’t happy.”

“Need she have been unhappy? She’s certainly done her damnedest to make a good many of the rest of us unhappy, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose she has.”

She knew so many more reasons for Vera’s unhappiness than he did, that she did not wish to prolong the discussion.

“It isn’t like you to be bitter,” she said, “Please don’t have that angry resentment against her in your heart.”

“I’ll try not to, for your sake,” he promised.

He held out his hand, and gripped hers firmly.

“Good-by, and God bless you. I know who’s going to be the luckiest man in the world.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The man who marries you.”

​He turned away, and Ann went back to rejoin Mrs. Ford and Rhoda.

She tried to excuse herself from dining with them, but they refused to listen to her. Well, what did it matter? she asked herself. She must learn to meet Rodney without feeling any emotion of any kind. Why not begin tonight? Perhaps he wouldn’t accept Stephanie’s invitation.

But he did. She heard him talking to James Ford in the billiard-room across the hall, as she came downstairs to dinner. And later, when they all went into the dining-room, she managed to give him a little nod and a friendly smile. He was not in evening dress, and neither was Ford. Very few men in Wairiri ever bothered to do more than change into a lounge suit for dinner, though their womenkind almost invariably “dressed.” But he looked smarter and better groomed than she had ever seen him before. Evidently the trip to Hawkeston had not been without results. And he was handsomer than ever. His face had gained some touch of sternness she had never noticed before. If he were shy—and she believed that he was—he was not awkward. Neither Mrs. Ford nor Rhoda would be able to find fault with his manner. Ford himself—like most men—was not so critical; while Stephanie was quite obviously not in the least likely to find any fault with her guest. After dinner she turned on the gramophone, and she and Rodney adjourned to the dimly lighted veranda, while Ford sat smoking in the billiard-room for a few minutes before beginning a rubber of bridge, and Ann struggled to keep her ​attention fixed upon the conversation between Mrs. Ford and Rhoda in the drawing-room.

Stephanie was evidently giving a dancing lesson.

“Oh, no one does that step now,” Ann heard her say; and there was discussion and laughter.

Then the telephone bell summonded Ford to the hall, and after a blurred sound of conversation between him and some one at the other end of the wire, he entered the drawing-room.

“No good starting bridge,” he said. “Waring’s coming out. He wants to see me on business. He’s leaving for Wellington tomorrow. Going down about this Government offer.”

It was the first time for a considerable period that Ann had looked forward with any pleasure to the advent of Waring; but when, after about a quarter of an hour, he arrived, she felt that he was a very present help in time of trouble, and she gave him a warmer smile than usual.

Apparently his business with Ford was soon disposed of, for he left his host, and appeared again in the drawing-room within a very short space of time. The gramophone was still going, and Stephanie and her partner still dancing on the veranda. Waring suggested to Rhoda that he and she should join them; but Mrs. Hemingway shook her head.

“There’s Miss Merrill. She’s younger and more energetic than I am.”

“What about it, Miss Merrill?”

Ann rose at once. “I’m almost hurling myself into his arms,” she thought, but at that moment she did not care. They danced for a time, and then sat down in two chairs outside the billiard-room window. Stephanie was called to the telephone, and Rodney ​Marsh entered the hall with her, so that Waring and Ann were now quite alone.

“I heard you were dining here. Dick Holmes told me. That’s why I came out—I’m leaving for Wellington tomorrow.”

“Yes. So I understand.”

“The Government has made me an offer for Kopu. They may take over the whole place, but I shan’t agree to sell until I’m quite convinced that you’re determined not to marry me.”

“I’ve already told you———”

“And I’ve told you that I haven’t altogether given up hope. I don’t intend to yet. I’ve usually succeeded in getting my own way so far in life.” He leant across and took her hand. “Ann, don’t be foolish. I care for you more than I ever thought I could care for any woman. I’d make you happy—I swear I would. And I can give you a great deal more than most men.”

Ann made an effort to rise, but with one arm round her he held her firmly.

“No, you’ve got to listen to me. You let me kiss you once.”

“I know,” said Ann, distress in her voice, “but that meant nothing.”

“You’re not speaking the truth. It mayn’t have meant as much to you as it meant to me, but it did mean something. You weren’t entirely indifferent.”

“For that one moment—no.”

“There were other moments, The first night you danced with me. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes. Oh, it’s a horrible thing to say, but don’t you understand my feeling for you was no more than the feeling of any woman for any man.”

​“You put it in the past tense.”

“Yes, even that—that sense of physical attraction is gone now.” She disengaged herself from the arm that held her and rose. “Please, please don’t let us ever speak of it again. During the last few weeks I’ve learnt to like you—better, far better—than when you attracted me more in another way.”

“That’s rather a poor consolation for me, isn’t it?”

“It’s not meant as consolation. I only want you to understand that I don’t like hurting you now. I shouldn’t have minded before.”

“That at least gives me some ground for hope.”

“No, no!” she said with pitiful earnestness. “Oh, will nothing ever make you realize that it’s quite impossible—what you ask?”

“Nothing, my dear, except your marriage to another man.”

She had no reply to make to that, but she moved forward towards the lighted hall, and he walked beside her. In the doorway they came face to face with Stephanie and Rodney coming out to resume the lesson. But Ann danced no more that evening. She sat on in the drawing-room with Mrs. Ford and Rhoda, until Waring had taken his departure. Then she rose to go.

“I’ll get out the car and run you home,” said Mrs. Hemingway.

“You’ll do no such thing,” returned Ann firmly. “It’s less than a mile, and I’d like the walk. I don’t get nearly enough exercise, and it’s quite fine now.”

“You can’t go alone,” objected Mrs. Ford.

“I must be off too,” said Marsh. He and Stephanie had come in from the veranda. “I can see Miss Merrill safely into town. I’m walking.”

​On the spur of the moment there was no objection Ann could raise to this arrangement; and ten minutes later she and Rodney had said good night to the Fords, and were walking down the drive towards the road.

Ann was endeavoring to manufacture small talk. She was desperately afraid of the silences between them—afraid that he should see too plainly the pain that she had suffered ever since the remarks of Biddy and Jo had revealed his intimacy with Stephanie Hemingway. In the future she knew that she would learn to view with indifference his friendships for other women. She despised herself for this stupid consciousness of jealousy. “It’s wounded vanity,” she told herself. “I’ve been feeling out of it—of no importance. Such a petty attitude of mind! I won’t give in to it! I won’t! Why shouldn’t he admire Stephanie? She’s very pretty and very sweet.” And then her mind flew on to his engagement to Stephanie. She saw Stephanie overruling all the objections of her family to the match. Saw her in her white wedding-gown with orange-blossoms and veil complete, walking down the aisle with her handsome bridegroom. Mr. and Mrs. Rodney Marsh were settled on a small sheep-station before Ann and her companion had reached the willow-bordered road leading to the river bridge. She was even picturing their family—growing up—going to good schools—coming to “Ann’s” to buy the girls’ outfits! And all the while she talked on, apparently quite happily, to the man beside her. But Marsh himself was not so talkative. He answered her questions; told her of a job he had been offered—buyer for one of the big stock and station agents in the town.

​Then Mr. and Mrs. Rodney Marsh might live in Wairiri itself, not in the country, she reflected quickly. Mrs. Ford would like that—to have Stephanie always near her.

“Are you going to accept?” she asked.

“I don’t know—I haven’t decided yet. I’d rather be working on my own.”

He paused, and then went on abruptly:

“I was in the billiard-room for a minute this evening, when you and Waring were sitting on the veranda. I heard him making love to you.”

“Really.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

“Didn’t you wait to hear the rest of the conversation?”

“I didn’t wait at all,” he returned fiercely. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“Weren’t you? It rather sounded as though you were.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I haven’t the smallest intention of answering it.”

“Are you nothing better than a . . . a little flirt?”

“And are you nothing better than an excessively ill-mannered young man?”

“Yes. You’ve told me before that I’m ignorant, and arrogant, and conceited.”

“Very well, I’ll add now that you’re impertinent as well.”

“What else do you expect from a drover? A man whose position, you say, isn’t equal to yours?”

The furious turmoil of Ann’s angry heart was suddenly stilled. She was conscious of a sharp stab of remorse.

“Rodney,” she said quietly, “I’ve never told you ​that—I haven’t any ‘position’ that I’m aware of, though it is true that we look at things from a slightly different angle. But I realize now that I’ve seemed to you stupid, and . . . snobbish, and priggish, preaching at you as I’ve done. But it wasn’t meant like that. Don’t you remember that first day, when you let me ride on Nigger, I told you that I knew you were kind and honest and brave? Docsn’t that include every good quality in human nature?”

“I think you told me then, too, that I was obstinate and self-willed.”

“Well, aren’t we all that?’ He did not answer, and she went on: “Why are we quarreling? Life’s too short for petty anger and bitterness, and in our hearts I believe we’re both rather fond of one another.”

“Not fond enough,” he returned.

“No, perhaps not fond enough to . . . to live out our lives together, but surely fond enough to keep some feeling of friendship and respect for one another.”

There was silence for a moment, and then he said rather gruffly:

“I’m sorry I was . . . rude. I saw you with Holmes today. And then this evening knowing that you were sitting out there with Waring———”

“But what difference can it make to you, if I do flirt with other men?”

“You say you want to think the best of me. Well, perhaps I’ve got that same feeling about you.”

“Of course if you put it like that, it doesn’t sound rude at all.”

“Let’s leave it at that then.”

This apparently constituted an armistice, for they now walked on, discussing less controversial subjects—​Nigger’s chances for the Autumn Meeting in a fortnight’s time, and for the Grand National in August—the young horse Marsh had ridden—the Fords—and Stephanie! She was a very fine rider, Ann learnt, and very plucky—it would take a big fence to stop her. Pretty too—and kind. Ann agreed with all Rodney’s praise of the younger girl. But when she said “good night” to him at her own door she did not linger. They parted in a perfectly friendly fashion, and Ann resolved that in the future nothing in her attitude towards the young drover should give him cause to believe that she was more interested in him, even as a friend, than in any other man of her acquaintance.