Wild, Wild Heart
 
 cirsh, 
 
 . friend of 
 
 Holmes, 
 
 'oyal and 
 
 . jold and 
 
 .jer job 
 
 'nich arise.
 
 MAYFAIR STATIONERS 
 
 7855 MELROSE AVENUE 
 
 HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. 
 
 THE MATFAIR RENTAL LIBRARY 
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 Hollywood, 
 
 BOOK NO. . 
 
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 charges if, for any reason, this book is not returned. Section 623 1 A, Penal 
 Code, State of California Wilful detention of library books. Whoever 
 wilfully detains any book * * * or other property belonging to any public 
 or incorporated library, reading room, * * * for thirty days after notice in 
 writing to return the same, given after the expiration of the time which 
 by the rules of such institution such article * * * may be kept, is guilty of 
 a misdemeanor and shall be punished accordingly.
 
 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 TWENTY-THREE- YEAR-OLD Ann Merrill leaves her 
 native England to become governess for the 
 Holmes family in New Zealand. The strange coun- 
 try fascinates her grazing herds of sheep, the 
 races, polo; but all this is mild compared to the 
 new people who come into her life. Rodney 
 Marsh, head shepherd; Gerald Waring, friend of 
 the family, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes themselves. 
 The husband, kind, loyal and considerate; the 
 wife, calculating, cold and selfish. Ann is forced to 
 leave her job because of the complications which 
 arise. Gerald and Rodney both fall in love with 
 her and Vera Holmes makes her life miserable 
 by insidious insinuations. In a most unusual de- 
 nouement, all of her difficulties are solved, but 
 meanwhile love, hate, friendship, distrust and af- 
 fection play their part in this delightful romance.
 
 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 By ROSEMARY REES 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "Home Is Where the Heart Is" etc. 
 
 A berry red, a guileless look, 
 
 A still word, strings of sand! 
 
 And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
 
 Fly down to her little hand. 
 
 AN ARCADIA HOUSE 
 P U B L I C A T I O N
 
 PRINTED IN U.S. A.
 
 Contents 
 
 1. First Impressions 7 
 
 2. Second Impressions 28 
 
 3. The Clash of Temperament 57 
 
 4. "Daisy" 85 
 
 5. A Race, a Dance, a Fight 95 
 
 6. The Accident and After 1 1 1 
 
 7. Disillusion 125 
 
 8. Good-by to Tirau 137 
 
 9. The Hat Shop 151 
 
 10. Smoke Without Fire 164 
 
 11. The Fords 192 
 
 12. A Lover, and a Friend 210 
 
 13. Stephanie 226 
 
 14. Vera 246 
 
 15. Nigger's Victory 266
 
 'MAYFAIR STATIONERS 
 j 7855 MELROSE AVENUE 
 
 HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. 
 
 First Impressions 
 
 i. 
 
 THE driver of the service car having deposited Ann, 
 her hatbox, her two suitcases, and her cabin trunk, in 
 front of the Omoana Hotel, swung round and made 
 for the little iron-roofed post office, where he pro- 
 ceeded to throw out the canvas mail bags. 
 
 But Ann was no longer interested in the service 
 car. She stood on the veranda of the two-storied 
 wooden building, feeling very hot in the afternoon 
 sunshine and wondering rather forlornly why no one 
 had appeared to welcome her. "Welcome" wasn't 
 perhaps the right word. She had sufficient common- 
 sense to realize that the arrival of a nursery governess 
 wasn't an event of any great importance; but she had 
 understood from Mrs. Holmes's letter that some one 
 would meet her at the Omoana Hotel, and take her 
 on the further seven miles to the station homestead. 
 
 Evidently Omoana township ended with the hotel. 
 Certainly the dusty roadway ran on a little further 
 into the tussocky grass of the sandhills, but after a few 
 yards it seemed to lose heart and give up all hope of 
 reaching the beach beyond, where an endless line of 
 breakers rolling in from the blue Pacific fringed the 
 bay with white. The sound of the surf was at least 
 cool and refreshing, but Ann had been hearing that 
 
 7
 
 8 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 sound for the last three hours, and she was tired of it. 
 The coast road along which the service car had trav- 
 eled from Wairiri seemed to be a road by courtesy 
 only. The car ran for the most part along the hard 
 sand of the seashore, only turning inland where the 
 rocky headlands jutted out into the blue of the ocean. 
 It was a very beautiful coast line, but very lonely too, 
 Ann reflected. Not a house in sight anywhere. Only 
 the sheep on the hills, and the gulls crying over the 
 white breakers, and the wet sand, and the empty wide 
 Pacific. And Omoana itself was little less lonely. The 
 hotel, the post office, the store, a forlorn looking 
 bank, a blacksmith's forge, a low iron-roofed hall 
 plastered with film posters, a garage, and one or two 
 small wooden houses all seemed practically de- 
 serted. Yet there must be human beings within the 
 shabby wooden walls of the hotel, for a saddled horse 
 was hitched to a post outside the window labeled 
 "BAR," and three dogs lay snapping at the flies in 
 the sunshine at the horse's heels. What should she do? 
 Ann wondered. Walk through into the open hall-way 
 and call for some one? Bang loudly on the door? All 
 at once Ann's stout little heart failed her. She'd 
 spoken so bravely before leaving England of life in 
 a new country; the romance of it the adventure 1 
 Well, she'd had a certain amount of both on the 
 voyage out. But now! A sudden wave of desolation 
 engulfed her. Oh, to be back in the dear old ship 
 again! The dancing, and the deck games, and faithful 
 Bob Greenaway always in attendance! 
 
 If by some miracle Bob could materialize here and 
 now, Ann felt that she would hurl herself into his 
 kindly arms and agree to love, honor, and obey like 
 a sensible girl.
 
 First Impressions 9 
 
 But no miracle happened. Bob was twelve hundred 
 miles away in Sydney. She'd send a cable to him! She 
 wouldn't go on to these hateful Holmes people! 
 She'd 
 
 The sound of voices interrupted the sequence of 
 these rash resolves. Evidently one or two people had 
 moved into the bar from a passage-way behind the 
 front hall. Through the half-opened door Ann could 
 hear the clink of glasses, and laughter. 
 
 "Rod's keeping up his courage!" 
 
 "What for?" asked a woman's voice. 
 
 "Got to drive the old school ma'am back to Tirau 
 in the buggy. She'll learn you to speak proper, Rod. 
 No bad words, mind!" 
 
 "Isn't Mrs. Holmes bringing in the car?" 
 
 "No, Rod's been told off for the job. Rod's a good 
 little boy always does what he's told." 
 
 There was the sound of a sudden scuffle, and the 
 crash of a broken glass, and then the woman's voice 
 again, raised sharply: 
 
 "None of your skylarking in here! You'll pay for 
 that glass, Jack." 
 
 "Rod broke it. But Rod don't pay, of course Rod's 
 the white-headed boy at Omoana." 
 
 Ann pushed open the door, and stood in the en- 
 trance. The scuffling stopped, and two men and a 
 woman faced her. The men were young the woman 
 probably in her middle thirties and it was she to 
 whom Ann spoke. 
 
 "Can you tell me how I can reach Mr. Holmes's 
 station? I'm their governess. I understood that they 
 were meeting me here." 
 
 She already knew how she was to get to her jour- 
 ney's end. "Rod" was to drive her in the buggy; but
 
 10 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 she deemed it expedient to ignore the conversation 
 she had overheard. 
 
 "Why yes I believe Rodney Marsh is taking you. 
 Isn't that so, Rod?" 
 
 "That's right." The taller of the two young men 
 stepped forward. He spoke with a sort of half-sheep- 
 ish defiance his old felt hat still on the back of his 
 head. It wasn't the voice of a gentleman, Ann decided 
 quickly for according to her standards a man's social 
 position was usually indicated by his accent but it 
 wasn't a common voice; and the man himself was 
 anything but common in appearance. The loose open 
 shirt, and shabby gray trousers belted by a strap, 
 revealed rather than disguised his wonderful phy- 
 sique. Straight featured and fearless-eyed, his clear 
 dark skin tanned to a deeper hue by sun and wind 
 and rain, he might have posed for a statue of un- 
 tamed youth. A little too untamed perhaps. There 
 was more than a hint of arrogance in the lift of the 
 chin, and the poise of the fine head. "Phcebus, God of 
 the Morning!" thought Ann quickly. "Heavens, what 
 devastating good looks! Still, it's a pity he doesn't 
 know that it's manners to remove his hat." 
 
 But Ann was wrong. Rodney Marsh's old felt hat 
 pushed on to the back of his head was a deliberate 
 gesture a challenge to the look she herself had bent 
 upon him. 
 
 He knew that she must have heard all that had 
 passed before her entrance, and he was taken at a dis- 
 advantage. He wasn't accustomed to that. Son of an 
 emigrant plowman, he was still king of his own small 
 world, and he'd let her know it. 
 
 And so during the seven-mile drive in the rattling 
 buggy, he remained morosely silent; and Ann, tired,
 
 First Impressions n 
 
 limp, and dusty, cared not a pin whether he spoke or 
 not. 
 
 2. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes, cigarette in hand, rose from among 
 the cushions of her deck-chair as Ann mounted the 
 veranda steps. The sun would soon be dropping be- 
 hind the hills to the left of the homestead, but it 
 was still hot; and across the paddocks, a group of 
 small buildings near the red-painted woolshed and the 
 sheep yards was vividly outlined in the mellowing 
 light. Each big forest tree in the patch of native bush 
 on the bank of the river behind the shed showed up 
 distinct and clear; and beyond, through a gap in the 
 hills, one saw a triangle of sapphire blue the sea. 
 The low bungalow-like homestead was set on a slope. 
 The flower garden fell in terraces below it with long 
 shadows of shrubs and trees now slanting across the 
 sun-dried turf of the tennis court. 
 
 Ann's first impression of Vera Holmes was of a 
 haggard, handsome woman with queer dark eyes. 
 "She has a thwarted look," was the comment that 
 sprang into Ann's mind, though she couldn't quite 
 explain to herself what she meant by that. 
 
 "Hope you didn't mind coming in the buggy," said 
 Mrs. Holmes in a husky drawl, waving the smoke of 
 her cigarette from between them. "I had a bad head, 
 and didn't feel up to driving the car, and my hus- 
 band's out at the back of the run. Frightfully warm 
 for this time of year, isn't it?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Ann. "I've only been in New 
 Zealand a week." 
 
 "This is like summer. We're wanting rain badly." 
 
 A man in riding kit was stretched out lazily in a
 
 12 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 chair beside the one which Mrs. Holmes had just 
 vacated. "That's not Mr. Holmes then," thought 
 Ann; but she did not look in his direction. 
 
 "Bring the luggage right through, Marsh," went on 
 Mrs. Holmes; and turning again to Ann: "I expect 
 you'd like to see your room. Have you had any tea?" 
 
 Ann shook her head. 
 
 "Why didn't you see that Miss Merrill had tea at 
 Omoana, Marsh?" 
 
 "She told Mrs. Bentley she didn't want it," re- 
 turned the young man shortly. 
 
 "I thought I'd better not delay." 
 
 "Oh well, I'll get you a cup. My two domestics 
 are down at the cottage. They live down there." With 
 a casual movement of her well-shaped hand Vera 
 Holmes indicated the buildings near the woolshed. 
 "I usually let them go for two or three hours in the 
 afternoon. We're in luck at present an excellent mar- 
 ried couple with a daughter. She's a somewhat minia- 
 ture and incompetent housemaid, but we take what 
 the gods or the Emigration Department send us, 
 and are thankful." 
 
 They had moved through the central hall, and 
 along a passage leading to the western side of the 
 house, and here in a small bright-papered room Ann's 
 luggage was deposited. Rodney Marsh made his way 
 out towards the back of the house, and while Mrs. 
 Holmes went off to see about the tea, Ann inspected 
 her domain. 
 
 A french window now flung widely open led on 
 to a small side veranda, and so to the flower-sweet 
 garden. Beyond her room to the left was a big bed- 
 room which Mrs. Holmes told her belonged to the
 
 First Impressions 13 
 
 little girls; to the right, two jutting bay windows of 
 what she afterwards found were Mr. Holmes's bed- 
 room and the smoking-room, respectively, shut her off 
 from the front of the house where Mrs. Holmes and 
 her companion had been sitting when Rodney Marsh 
 had driven the buggy up the drive. 
 
 What sort of a woman was Mrs. Holmes, Ann 
 wondered. Quick and as a rule fairly accurate in her 
 judgments, Ann found herself more than a little 
 baffled here. In her short life Ann had met many 
 types, but never any one of this description. Fasci- 
 nating, yes but was she honest? Was she kind? She 
 had received the new governess quite amiably, and 
 now brought in the tea-tray herself and stayed for a 
 few moments chatting in the bored and detached 
 manner which seemed an expression of her personal- 
 ity. But was it? Was she not rather very alert and 
 very subtle? When she was left alone with her tea-tray 
 beside her on the veranda, Ann's thoughts were cen- 
 tered on her new employer. Should they get on to- 
 gether? Ann hoped so, and yet some instinct warned 
 her to go warily. She had learned that as a rule she 
 would be expected to give the litle girls Biddy, aged 
 eight, and Jo, aged six their tea in the dining-room 
 about 5.30. Tonight, as they had ridden out with 
 their father to the back of the station, they might be 
 home late, and therefore would have dinner with 
 their elders. Dinner was at 6.15. Yes, earlier than one 
 had it "at Home" (Ann already knew that "Home" 
 with a big "H" signified England) , but Mrs. Pratt 
 and Emily liked to get back as soon as possible to the 
 cottage. That was all. 
 
 Ann finished her tea and then began unpacking.
 
 14 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 3- 
 
 A few minutes after six, Ann heard thick-shod small 
 feet stumping into the bathroom; the splashing of 
 water; and a confused murmur of voices. Then a 
 man's voice a very gentle, pleasant voice called: 
 
 "Hurry up, young 'ns. Don't be all night I want 
 the bathroom." 
 
 "Jo hasn't washed her knees." 
 
 "Pooh! Who's going to take the trouble to look 
 under the table at my knees? It'll be dark soon, any- 
 how." 
 
 More blurred discussion, and then: 
 
 "Come on, Dad all clear." 
 
 A moment or two later a whispering and a pushing 
 sound outside Ann's door announced the fact that 
 the two little girls were there. Ann's eyes twinkled. 
 Curiosity, hampered by indecision, was so obviously 
 expressed in those murmurs and shufflings. 
 
 She opened her door. "Were you coming in to see 
 me?" 
 
 The two little girls almost fell into the room. They 
 both looked at her with a fixed stare. Then Biddy 
 turned to Jo. 
 
 "I've won," she said. 
 
 "You didn't say shingled" objected Jo. 
 
 "No, but you said 'scraggly hair parted in the 
 middle and specs.' " 
 
 "Not parted in the middle." 
 
 " 'A stuffy old thing like Miss Hildred,' you said." 
 
 "Not 'stuffy,'-'snuffy,' I said." 
 
 "Anyhow she isn't." 
 
 "Isn't what?" 
 
 "Snuffy."
 
 First Impressions 15 
 
 "Oh, well, you can take your old sixpence. I don't 
 care," said Jo, suddenly abandoning her untenable 
 line of defense. "Anyhow I'm glad she isn't like Miss 
 Hildred." 
 
 "Who's Miss Hildred?" asked Ann. 
 
 "She was the one before the last." 
 
 "No, the one before before the last," corrected Jo. 
 "There's been so many I've lost count. We've had 
 five in the last year." 
 
 "That sounds cheerful for me, I must say," re- 
 marked Ann. "It's a pity I bothered to unpack." 
 
 Both the little girls grinned broadly. 
 
 "If we like you," said Biddy, "we won't get out of 
 hand." 
 
 "Get out of hand indeed! I shall take the thickest 
 stick I can find and wallop you both soundly. That's 
 the way I'll teach you to like me!" 
 
 Their grins widened. 
 
 "I like you now, so you needn't wallop me," said 
 Biddy. 
 
 "And I love you," said Jo, suddenly hurling her- 
 self into Ann's arms. 
 
 "Jo's so unrestrained!" said Biddy disgustedly. 
 
 "Oh, I'll soon restrain her," replied Ann, scowling 
 so fiercely that both little girls shrieked with mirth. 
 This was a new kind of governess. They were pre- 
 pared to become the devoted slaves of any one who 
 looked as pretty as this, and could make jokes the 
 sort of jokes they understood. 
 
 "But you're not very old," said Biddy at last, rather 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Quite old enough. I'm older than you think." 
 
 "You don't know what I think." 
 
 At this retort Ann laughed, and then the little girls
 
 i6 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 laughed too, and they all laughed together, and so 
 were very good friends when the gong sounded, and 
 they went in to dinner. 
 
 The blinds had been drawn in the dining-room, 
 and the hanging lamp lighted, although outside it 
 was not yet dark. Neither of the men was in evening 
 dress, but Mrs. Holmes wore a vivid yellow gown 
 with a heavy jade necklace, and jade ear-rings. Ann 
 had thought her handsome at first, but now, in the 
 lamplight, her thin cheeks flushed and her dark eyes 
 shining, she looked beautiful. 
 
 Before they sat down Ann was introduced. 
 
 "Dick, this is Miss Merrill," and: 
 
 "Miss Merrill Mr. Waring." 
 
 Mr. Waring was "Gerald" apparently to all the 
 family even to Jo. Ann concluded that he was the 
 man who had been sitting with Mrs. Holmes on the 
 veranda when she arrived, but she was not quite sure 
 whether he was a relative or a friend. He was no 
 longer in riding clothes, and from this Ann imagined 
 that he must be staying in the house. He was good- 
 looking, tall and fair; very sure of himself and amus- 
 ing in a rather sarcastic, deliberate way. fie addressed 
 no remarks to Ann throughout the meal, and she re- 
 mained silent for the most part; for the conversation 
 dealt chiefly with the coming shearing, the lack of 
 rain, the polo match against Omoana on Saturday 
 afternoon, and the neighbors; and on all of these 
 subjects Ann had no opinions to offer. 
 
 Dick Holmes struck her as being indefinite both 
 in appearance and in manner. He was gentle, shy, 
 and a trifle awkward, but he had kind eyes, and a 
 nice voice, and it was quite evident that the two chil- 
 dren adored him.
 
 First Impressions 17 
 
 "Did you get to Bentley's before the service car?" 
 he asked his wife towards the end of the meal. 
 
 "I didn't go," she answered. "I had a bad head, 
 and sent Marsh in with the buggy." 
 
 "Why didn't you let him take the car?" 
 
 "The ponies had to be shod, so I thought he could 
 kill two birds with one stone." 
 
 Dick Holmes turned to Ann. 
 
 "I hope you didn't find the old buggy too uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 "Oh, no, it was quite all right." 
 
 "We don't often use the buggy. But some of the 
 roads round here are unmetaled, and we can't take 
 the car out on them in wet weather, so the ponies 
 have to be kept in commission." 
 
 "Is Marsh playing for Tirau on Saturday?" asked 
 Waring. 
 
 "Yes, I think so." 
 
 i"It's ridiculous the way you spoil that boy," put in 
 Mrs. Holmes impatiently. "After all, he's only a 
 working man a shepherd." 
 
 "Head-shepherd." 
 
 "Oh, well, it's the same thing." 
 
 "Rodney wouldn't agree with you and he's a rat- 
 tling good polo player. We've got to play the strongest 
 team we can get hold of at Wairiri." 
 
 "The young Adonis! You'll find all the girls will 
 be tumbling over each other to dance with him at 
 the Polo Ball," said Waring. "He'll be resplendent in 
 white kid gloves and a ready-made dinner jacket." 
 
 "Surely he won't be invited to the ball!" Vera 
 Holmes spoke sharply. 
 
 "Why not, if he's a member of the Coast Team?" 
 asked her husband. He never raised his voice. His
 
 i8 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 gentle manner was a queer contrast to Waring's caus- 
 tic tones. 
 
 "He's conceited enough as it is! There'll be no 
 holding him if he's chosen for the Coast Team and 
 allowed to go down to Wairiri for the Tournament." 
 
 "He's a good lad." 
 
 "So you always say. Personally I think he's a wild 
 young rip. Drinking and gambling and . . . carrying 
 on with that awful Mrs. Bentley ..." 
 
 Holmes lifted his eyebrows at her with a little side 
 glance at the children, who were both eagerly lis- 
 tening. 
 
 "Yes, I know he likes Mrs. Bentley," said Biddy. 
 "He gave her the silver cup Nigger won for jumping 
 at the Sports." 
 
 "Emily told us," chirruped Jo. 
 
 "It's quite time you youngsters were in bed," said 
 their father. "What about baths?" 
 
 "Oh, they can't have them just after the enormous 
 meal they've eaten." 
 
 "Jo'll have to wash her knees anyhow they're 
 filthy." 
 
 "They're not filthy. It's only clean mud where I 
 fell in the creek." 
 
 Ann took them both off. 
 
 She could hear them chattering together from their 
 beds in the next room as she sat before her writing- 
 table in the twilight. The windows were still open to 
 the garden, where the crickets shrilled, and the scent 
 of the stocks and tobacco plants in the border came 
 in to her. The moths came in too, clustering thickly
 
 First Impressions 19 
 
 round the lamp she had lighted. In spite of the chil- 
 dren's chatter Ann felt very desolate and very home- 
 sick. She was alone, a stranger in a strange land. Far 
 away some bird was calling mournfully a weka she 
 knew it to be afterwards a horse neighed down in 
 one of the paddocks, and from the hills around came 
 the lonely and plaintive bleating of distant sheep. 
 Through the blue gums of the plantation on her left 
 a little breeze sighed sadly. Ann took up her pen. 
 She'd write to Bob. She knew it would be kinder not 
 to do so she ought to allow him to forget her but 
 she was feeling so forlorn that she must speak to some 
 one, some friend. Her stiff little letter to her father 
 announcing her arrival in Wairiri had been written 
 the previous night. Her stepmother wouldn't want to 
 hear. "My dear Bob!" She sat balancing her pen in 
 her hand. He'd told her that if she ever changed her 
 mind: No, she wouldn't write. It wasn't fair. She liked 
 him and respected him, but she didn't love him. 
 Well, what was love? Did that wild passionate attach- 
 ment exist outside the pages of romantic novels? 
 Probably it didn't and in any case if it did, nine 
 girls out of ten didn't find it. She wasn't a stupid, 
 sentimental schoolgirl pining for love; but at the 
 present moment she did undoubtedly feel very lonely 
 and deserted, and would have welcomed a little hu- 
 man companionship. She wished Mrs. Holmes had 
 suggested her joining them in the drawing-room. Oh, 
 well! There didn't seem anything left for her to do 
 but take a book from the little bookshelf on the wall, 
 and read herself to sleep. But as she rose from the 
 writing-table there was a knock at her door, and Mrs. 
 Holmes entered. As usual she was smoking. 
 
 "Have you got everything you want? Oh, you'd
 
 20 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 better close the wire doors on your window, or your 
 room will be full of flying beasts." Crossing the room 
 as she spoke she pulled-to the netted frames. "We 
 haven't many mosquitoes up here, thank goodness" 
 
 She moved restlessly about the room for a moment. 
 
 "Are these your photographs?" 
 
 "Yes, that's my father." 
 
 "And this?" 
 
 "My stepmother." 
 
 "Why did they allow you to come out here by your- 
 self? You're only a baby." 
 
 "I'm twenty-three." 
 
 "You look about seventeen I'd never have engaged 
 you if I'd known you were so young. That Educa- 
 tional Bureau, or whatever they call themselves, in 
 Wellington, didn't mention your age." 
 
 "Do you mean you're not not satisfied?" 
 
 Mrs. Holmes shrugged. 
 
 "If you can manage the children it'll be all right I 
 suppose and they seem to have taken a fancy to you." 
 
 She turned, and suddenly her voice lost its lazy 
 drawl, and was shaken and impatient, as it had been 
 at dinner when she spoke of Rodney Marsh. 
 
 "If I sent you away I suppose kind friends would 
 say that I was jealous of you because you're so young 
 and pretty." 
 
 For a moment Ann was taken aback; then she an- 
 swered quite simply: 
 
 "Why should you be jealous when you look ... so 
 ... so beautiful yourself?" 
 
 A quick light sprang into Mrs. Holmes's dark eyes. 
 
 "Do you mean that? Yes" she said slowly, answer- 
 ing her own question "you do. Your eyes are truth-
 
 First Impressions 21 
 
 ful. I was good-looking once. Oh, I loathe growing 
 old. No! don't say anything more, you'd spoil it." 
 
 Again her voice resumed its normal tone: 
 
 "Didn't your father object to your coming all this 
 way to the other side of the world?" 
 
 "No," said Ann truthfully. "I was the youngest of 
 the first family, and there's another small family now 
 my stepmother's children I wasn't wanted at 
 home." 
 
 "Haven't you any brothers and sisters of your 
 own?" 
 
 "Yes, but they're much older and they're married, 
 and have children themselves. They don't take much 
 interest in me." 
 
 "You've been a nursery governess before?" 
 
 "Yes, for eighteen months. And I worked as a typist 
 for a year." 
 
 "You're enterprising." 
 
 Ann laughed. 
 
 "Oh, I learned millinery too! I should love to have 
 gone on with that had a shop of my own. But it's 
 so hard to start anything like that in London the 
 competition's awful. Still, my millinery lessons 
 weren't wasted. I save quite a lot doing my own hats." 
 
 Mrs. Holmes's face lit up again. 
 
 "Did you trim that hat you wore today when you 
 arrived?" 
 
 "I made it." 
 
 "The whole thing?" 
 
 Ann nodded. 
 
 "Oh, but it was a little lamb! Will you make me 
 some hats?" 
 
 "Of course I will." 
 
 "What joy to get something decent to put on one's
 
 22 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 head. I love clothes and I have a passion for hats, and 
 one can't get anything decent in Wairiri. How I ache 
 sometimes for London again, and the shops! If you 
 can supply me with pretty hats, I don't care what you 
 teach the children." 
 
 She picked up another photograph. 
 
 "And who is the nice-looking young man?" 
 
 "He traveled on the ship with me." 
 
 "I suppose he wanted to marry you?" 
 
 Ann did not answer for a moment. 
 
 "Oh, of course he did," said Mrs. Holmes. "They 
 all do ... on ships. Did you say yes?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I didn't love him." 
 
 Vera Holmes gave a sudden hard laugh. 
 
 "Love!" she echoed. But she put the photograph 
 down, and said no more on the subject. 
 
 "Those two men are talking sheep as usual," she 
 went on abruptly. "Wool and mutton, mutton and 
 wool! That's all men ever talk about in this country. 
 What price did Smith's wool fetch, and how much 
 did Jones get for his fat lambs from the Works? I 
 suppose you can't play bridge, can you? That would 
 be too much to hope for." 
 
 "Of course I can," said Ann. 
 
 "Oh, thank God," murmured Mrs. Holmes. "Come 
 along and we'll end that interminable discussion of 
 wool and mutton and hogets and two-tooths." 
 
 So Ann's evening ended very much more cheerfully 
 than it had begun, for she played five good rubbers, 
 at the end of which she was richer by the whole sum 
 of ninepence. But as she got into bed that night she 
 reflected that though she had not yet decided in her
 
 First Impressions 23 
 
 own mind whether Mrs. Holmes was either honest or 
 kind, there was one thing her new employer decidedly 
 was not. She was not happy. 
 
 Ann had her early cup of tea brought to her by 
 Emily, the fifteen-year-old housemaid, next morning 
 before seven o'clock. A few minutes afterwards Biddy 
 and Jo ran along the veranda in their pajamas, and 
 informed her, through the wire-netting of her open 
 french window, that if she liked they would show her 
 the schoolroom before breakfast. 
 
 "It's not in the house, you know," said Biddy. "It's 
 in a whare up on the hill higher 'an the stockyard." 
 
 "What's a whare?" asked Ann. 
 
 Jo's rotund little form spun round like a top in 
 an ecstasy of mirth. 
 
 "Doesn't know what a whare is!" she chortled. 
 
 "It's a house a little house of course." 
 
 "Don't be silly, Jo. How would Miss Merrill know? 
 They don't talk Maori in England, do they, Miss 
 Merrill?" 
 
 "I never heard any." 
 
 "Dan's a Maori Dan the cowboy. He cooked for 
 the men at the cottage before Mrs. Pratt was there. 
 He milks, and feeds the fowls, and the pigs, and some- 
 times . . ." 
 
 "Oh, do be quiet, Jo! Miss Merrill doesn't want to 
 hear all that stupid rubbish." 
 
 "It isn't stupid rubbish." 
 
 A heated argument ensued. But half an hour later 
 Ann, with a little girl dangling from either hand, was 
 making her way through the garden beyond the east-
 
 24 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 ern veranda towards the whare. This was an old 
 three-roomed cottage set higher up the slope among 
 the trees; and from the schoolroom, which was in 
 the front of the building, one looked down upon 
 stockyard, stables, and garage; and then across the 
 paddocks to the woolshed, the sheep yards, and all the 
 buildings clustered there. There had been heavy rain 
 in the night, but now the sunshine was brilliant and 
 clear, and larks were singing high up in the blue. 
 Already the paddocks and the tennis court looked 
 more freshly green, and the flowers washed and shin- 
 ing. Down by the woolshed cattle were moving in the 
 sunshine, dogs barked, and there was the crack of a 
 stockwhip from a galloping horseman as one beast 
 broke away from the mob. 
 
 "That's Rodney drafting cattle," said Biddy, look- 
 ing down. "He's the best rider on the coast." 
 
 "What about Dad?" demanded Jo, fiercely. 
 
 "Rodney's better than Dad Dad says so himself. 
 He's got better hands." 
 
 "Pooh! Dad's the best rider in New Zealand the 
 best in the world." 
 
 Another heated argument arose. Ann restored 
 peace by dragging a red herring across the scent. 
 
 "Where does that other door lead to?" . 
 
 "That? Oh, that's Gerald's room. He doesn't live 
 here, you know. But he leaves his clothes and things 
 there, so as he can change for polo practice." 
 
 Biddy's brows were drawn down in a scowl. 
 
 "I love Gerald," announced Jo. 
 
 "You say that because he gives you chocolates." 
 
 "No, I'd love him just the same if he didn't give 
 me nothing." 
 
 "I hate him."
 
 First Impressions 25 
 
 "Oh, Biddy! He's Daddy's best friend. You know 
 Mummy whipped you for saying that." 
 
 "I don't care! I hate him, so there. Why doesn't 
 he bring his own ponies over from Kopu instead of 
 riding Belle? I hate him." 
 
 "All right but don't make so much noise about it." 
 
 Waring himself opened the inner door, and stepped 
 out into the schoolroom. 
 
 Biddy's jaw dropped, and the scarlet ran from neck 
 to brow. 
 
 "I thought you went home last night," she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 Jo was again doubling herself up and dancing 
 round, choking with laughter. What a joke! He'd ac- 
 tually heard Biddy say she hated him! Biddy moved 
 to the open door. 
 
 "Dan's going to feed the new chickens," she said, 
 and sped down the hill as fleetly as a deer. 
 
 "Wait for me! Wait for me!" shrieked Jo, tum- 
 bling down the slope as fast as her fat little legs 
 could carry her. 
 
 "Amiable child!" observed Waring. 
 
 "All children say silly things of that sort at times. 
 It doesn't mean anything." 
 
 "She resents my riding one of her father's ponies 
 for polo practice. She's an objectionable kid." 
 
 Ann contradicted him. 
 
 "She's a dear little girl, really." 
 
 "It's your job to say that." 
 
 "I shouldn't say it if I didn't think it." 
 
 Suddenly the man laughed. 
 
 "You're far too pretty to be a school ma'am," he 
 said coolly, "and you're only a kid yourself." 
 
 Ann was conscious of a little flash of temper, but
 
 26 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 when she spoke her voice was quite even and uncon- 
 cerned. 
 
 "I'm getting a trifle tired of remarks as to my juve- 
 nile appearance," she said. "First Biddy, then Mrs. 
 Holmes, and now you. As a matter of fact, I'm 
 twenty-three." 
 
 "So old!" he mocked. "Well, I'm thirty-five. Al- 
 most old enough to be your father/' 
 
 "Old enough at least to have learned not to be 
 impertinent," she returned calmly. 
 
 At this he laughed again, and moved to the open 
 doorway and stood there not actually blocking her 
 exit, but making it difficult for her to leave without 
 pushing past him. 
 
 "Are we beginning to quarrel?" he asked, smiling 
 at her with a sort of lazy insolence. "I'd hate to 
 quarrel with anything as pretty as you are." 
 
 "It's charming of you to insist so on my prettiness." 
 
 "Yes, isn't it? I thought you'd like my candor. 
 Most women do." 
 
 At that Ann laughed. After all, it was much better 
 to take his impudence as a joke. 
 
 "My beauty seems to have burst upon you rather 
 suddenly. It wasn't apparent last night." 
 
 "Oh, yes it was," he answered. "Don't you make 
 any mistake about that." 
 
 What was she to do? How end this foolish scene? 
 
 "Mr. Waring," she said, turning to him quite 
 frankly, "you think it's amusing to tease me, but I 
 think it's a little unkind. I can't get out of that door 
 without pushing past you." 
 
 "I don't object being pushed." 
 
 "I wasn't brought up to push." 
 
 "There's the window," he suggested, "you might
 
 First Impressions 27 
 
 climb out of that or go out by way of my room. But 
 no, I shouldn't do that. It might give rise to gossip." 
 
 He turned as he spoke, and she was free to make 
 her way past him through the door. But the tone of 
 his last remark had annoyed her more than all the 
 rest. How was she to treat him? Thank goodness he 
 didn't live at Tirau! 
 
 Yet at breakfast, when they met again, he gave not 
 the slightest sign of any previous encounter with her. 
 He said "Good morning," politely; and after that 
 never once glanced in her direction. 
 
 "He can't be snobbish enough to be ashamed of 
 being friendly with the governess," she thought. "In 
 this year of grace that's surely rather Vieux jeu.' ' 
 But she was quite satisfied to be ignored. She told 
 herself that she had no desire to claim his notice 
 further.
 
 II 
 
 Second Impressions 
 
 i. 
 
 ANN had been three days at Tirau, and all was going 
 well. She had lost her first feeling of loneliness and 
 nostalgia, and now was keenly alive to all the interest 
 and fascination of this new environment. 
 
 On the fourth day Mrs. Ralston, the wife of one of 
 the neighboring station-owners, had motored over 
 with her three small children soon after lunch, and 
 the little Holmes girls were released from further les- 
 sons in order to entertain their guests. So Ann, glad 
 to have a few hours to herself, set off for a walk over 
 the hills towards the back of the run. Most of these 
 hills had long ago been cleared of the primeval for- 
 ests which had clothed them until fifty or sixty years 
 previously. Now they were pasture land for sheep 
 and cattle. But here and there a clump of glossy- 
 leaved karaka trees gave welcome shade, and the 
 green tops of the mop-headed cabbage-trees rattled 
 in the warm wind. Tall clumps of flax grew in the 
 valleys; and white flowering manuka outlined some 
 of the steeper ridges. There had been more welcome 
 rain during the past few days, and now spurs and 
 gullies were green and fresh in the warm sunshine. 
 After a dry winter and an early rainless spring, the 
 farmers rejoiced in the breaking of the drought; but 
 
 28
 
 Second Impressions 29 
 
 they wanted fine weather for the shearing in the im- 
 mediate future. 
 
 Ann had wandered on for over an hour when she 
 came to a patch of native bush, through which 
 swirled a creek over moss-covered stones. Tree-ferns 
 raised their lacy crowns above the water, and great 
 forest trees tawa, matai and kahikatea laced below 
 with hanging vines and undergrowth pink flowering 
 convolvulus, and white starred clematis towered 
 overhead. Never had Ann seen such a wealth of 
 varied ferns; and echoing in the damp stillness was 
 the note of the tui, like the song of the thrush and 
 the nightingale in one feathered throat. Ann was 
 loath to leave the cloistered peace of this sequestered 
 spot; but at last, realizing that unless she hurried she 
 would get back too late for the children's evening 
 meal, she set off to try and find a short cut home. By 
 keeping along the valley and climbing through vari- 
 ous tight wire fences "Lucky I'm no fatter!" thought 
 Ann she reached a smaller paddock which appar- 
 ently was empty. 
 
 No! As she crossed it she realized that one horse 
 had the entire field to himself. What a splendid 
 looking animal! Soon she must learn to ride! How 
 wonderful to control a creature like that so beauti- 
 fully proportioned, so ... Suddenly this high-flown 
 rhapsody was rudely interrupted. For good Heavens! 
 He was charging her! Rushing at her! Screaming 
 at her! No horse she had seen before in all her life 
 had ever behaved like this. In her terrified rush for 
 safety all she could think of was "He swalloweth 
 the ground with fierceness and rage." Wasn't that 
 something from the Bible having reference to the 
 horse? Until this moment she had looked upon this
 
 30 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 verse as poetic imagery only, now it was more than 
 that. She knew that if this dreadful animal reached 
 her she was doomed. Yet what hope had she of es- 
 cape? None! The fence was twenty yards away at 
 least. The galloping pounding hoofs were close be- 
 hind her. Then in a second a miracle happened! 
 
 There was a sound like the crack of a rifle, and 
 over the wire fence ahead there came, sailing like a 
 bird, another horse, but this, not riderless. Sharp and 
 quick came the ringing reports of the cracking stock- 
 whip; the galloping hoofs behind her had slackened 
 their pace. Now they were off again, but in retreat. 
 
 Ann, realizing that she was still alive, sat down 
 suddenly on a twisted ankle. 
 
 After a second Rodney Marsh galloped up to her. 
 
 "You little fool!" he shouted furiously. "What 
 made you come in here?" 
 
 Ann, looking up at him, fumbling desperately at 
 the back of her mind for an adequately abusive re- 
 tort, suddenly burst into tears. Oh, how she hated 
 herself for those weak tears! But her ankle was very 
 painful, and after all, when you've just come back 
 from the gates of death, to be shouted at and called 
 a little fool, is very difficult to bear. Besides, she knew 
 she was a little fool! That made it worse. 
 
 Marsh dismounted, and came close beside her. The 
 sight of her tears had rather nonplussed him. He 
 remained scowling down at her undecided what to 
 do. 
 
 In a moment Ann regained her self-control. 
 
 "I didn't know he'd rush at me in that horrible 
 way," she said. "I've never seen a horse behave like 
 that before."
 
 Second Impressions 31 
 
 "He's a stallion," answered Marsh shortly. "They're 
 nearly always dangerous." 
 
 "Oh!" said Ann. 
 
 She felt, if possible, more foolish than ever. She 
 rose, trying to disguise the fact that it was not very 
 easy to use her wrenched ankle. 
 
 "Have you hurt your foot?" 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing," she said airily, and achieved a 
 somewhat painful smile. 
 
 "Get up on my horse." 
 
 "Get up . . ." repeated Ann. How was she to get 
 up? 
 
 Marsh solved the problem by lifting her bodily and 
 swinging her up into the saddle. She sat astride look- 
 ing down at him, a trifle bewildered by her sudden 
 elevation. 
 
 "I suppose you can ride." 
 
 "Of course I can't. I've never been on a horse in 
 my life." 
 
 "Where have you lived then?" 
 
 "In a London suburb." 
 
 "Don't they usually ride there?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 He was annoyed at her tone. It was as though he 
 should have known that people who lived in suburbs 
 didn't ride. 
 
 "You'd better hang on to the front of the saddle 
 then, if you think you're likely to fall off," he said 
 curtly. 
 
 "It must be wonderful to ride as you do." 
 
 Ann's voice was soft, her own humiliation quite 
 forgotten as she thought of horse and rider soaring 
 so easily over that wickedly treacherous-looking bar- 
 rier.
 
 32 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "I haven't thanked you yet for saving me risking 
 your life jumping barbed wire." 
 
 He gave a short laugh. 
 
 "A lot of risk in that! Nigger never makes a mis- 
 take over wire. He's too old a hand at it for that." 
 
 "Do you mean you've jumped it before?" 
 
 He looked up into her face to see if she was, as he 
 would have put it, "pulling his leg," but her sweet, 
 candid eyes gazed down at him in genuine amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "Hundreds of times," he answered. 
 
 "It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. You 
 and your horse were like one being winged for 
 flight." Suddenly she laughed. "I don't know how 
 I managed to find time to think all that. I was rather 
 busy just then." 
 
 He looked up again and smiled at her. He was 
 leading Nigger now; walking at the horse's shoulder. 
 They reached the gate, and he opened it. 
 
 "Let me ride through all by myself," she said. 
 
 Her voice was like a coaxing child. The young 
 man laughed. 
 
 "Right you are. Take up the reins. No! not like 
 that. In your left hand. There! that one between 
 those fingers, and this one so." 
 
 His hands roughened and soiled, but still well- 
 shaped and sensitive guided hers. 
 
 "Don't pull on the bridle. You'll never ride if you 
 pull on a horse's mouth. Good hands mean every- 
 thing in a rider." 
 
 "And you have better hands than Mr. Holmes." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 "A little bird told me that." 
 
 "Biddy, I'll bet. Biddy always barracks for me as
 
 Second Impressions 33 
 
 a rider. But that's because her Dad says so. What 
 her Dad says is always Gospel truth to Biddy." 
 
 Not "Miss Biddy" then, thought Ann. He was only 
 a servant, after all, this young man, but evidently he 
 had his own ideas of service. 
 
 "Well, don't you agree with Mr. Holmes and . . . 
 Biddy?" 
 
 "Oh, there's nothing much to choose between us. 
 We're both good with horses." 
 
 No false pride about him! He didn't trouble to 
 deny self-evident facts. 
 
 "How long have you been here on this station?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "All my life. My father worked for old Holmes 
 when I was just a little nipper." 
 
 "Haven't you ever been away?" 
 
 "Yes, I've been to Christchurch and Auckland- 
 saw the Grand National in Christchurch last year." 
 
 "Never out of New Zealand?" 
 
 Ah! That was tactless. His face hardened again. 
 "He thinks I'm being patronizing," she thought 
 swiftly. 
 
 "New Zealand'll do me," he answered. 
 
 Very touchy, this young man! She must choose 
 her phrases more carefully in future. 
 
 They passed through the gate, and it was closed 
 behind them. 
 
 "Couldn't I trot, now? Just for a little way please 
 let me trot." He looked doubtful. "Oh, perhaps it 
 wouldn't be good for Nigger, I might hurt him." 
 
 He grinned at this. 
 
 "He's much more likely to hurt you." 
 
 "But that doesn't matter one would never learn 
 anything if one were afraid of being hurt."
 
 34 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Aren't you afraid?" 
 
 "I don't think so I'll have to find out. Do let me." 
 
 "What about your foot?" 
 
 "Oh, it's ever so much better: Look!" 
 
 She stuck her foot in the stirrup leather above the 
 iron, and leaned her weight on it. 
 
 "That scarcely hurts at all now. Mayn't I go a 
 little faster?" 
 
 "All right," he said grudgingly. "Walk him up to 
 that stump turn round and trot back to me. And 
 don't pull him round just with the bridle. Let him 
 feel your knee and the swing of your body. Riding's 
 mostly balance. No! don't bother about the stirrups. 
 It's dangerous putting your feet in the leathers, 
 you'd be dragged if you fell off. Hang on with your 
 knees and if you're feeling very unsafe catch hold of 
 the front of the saddle." 
 
 She did as she was told reached the stump, turned 
 round and trotted back to him. It was a very undig- 
 nified performance. She bumped up and down pro- 
 digiously; and alas! she was compelled to cling for 
 safety to the saddle; but she reached him without 
 mishap, flushed and laughing. 
 
 Though Rodney Marsh jomed in her laughter, she 
 felt no resentment. In fact she showed such sweet and 
 childish gratitude to him for his kindness, that he 
 was obliged to let her repeat the performance again, 
 and yet again. Then she pleaded to be allowed to 
 canter. Against his better judgment Marsh consented. 
 
 Now she was flying towards him, bumping and 
 tossing dangerously. Nigger, unused to this proceed- 
 ing, took it as a signal to increase his speed. He was 
 going at a hand-gallop as he passed Marsh; and in
 
 Second Impressions 35 
 
 another two seconds Ann, missing the saddle which so 
 far had succeeded in catching her each time she left 
 it, fell in a little heap among the rushes. 
 
 Marsh ran forward, but she was already sitting up 
 and laughing at him. 
 
 "No, I'm not a bit hurt." She rose and shook her- 
 self. "See! no bones broken. I don't think I'm even 
 bruised. Falling off is quite easy." 
 
 "So it seems," said Marsh. 
 
 Nigger, who had pulled up directly he had de- 
 posited her in the rushes, was now quietly grazing at 
 a little distance. Marsh walked over and caught him 
 by the trailing bridle. 
 
 "I suppose I couldn't try just once more, could I?" 
 asked Ann. "I'd be safer next time. I know now that 
 one must just sit on tight." 
 
 "Yes, that's the idea," agreed Marsh dryly. "You've 
 got the hang of it all right. Just sit tight." 
 
 "You're laughing at me," said Ann. "Oh well, I 
 suppose I did look idiotic. But I'm going to learn to 
 ride you wait and see." 
 
 "Yes, but I'm not going to teach you. I oughtn't 
 to have allowed you to do this today I'd no business 
 to. What would the boss have said to me if I'd 
 brought you home with*a broken neck?" 
 
 "It's Mr. Holmes you're thinking of, not me?" 
 
 "Well, naturally I'd think of him first. I shouldn't 
 want to upset him." 
 
 Ann laughed. 
 
 "You're certainly frank." 
 
 "No good telling lies about it. He comes first with 
 me before any one." 
 
 "You're fond of him?" 
 
 "He's a white man."
 
 36 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ann liked his voice when he said that. 
 
 "Well, thank you all the same for the riding 
 lesson," she said. "I'll get back now." 
 
 "You can't walk." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I can. The foot's all right again. See! 
 It scarcely hurts a scrap. It was only a little bit of a 
 twist I gave it. Just painful at the time that's all." 
 
 "You're not walking," he said; and quite coolly 
 swung her up into the saddle as he had done before. 
 
 "I thought I wasn't to ride again," she said mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 "You're not going to ride," he answered grimly, 
 "not by yourself. You're going to be led." 
 
 Ann laughed, but she was quite content to sit 
 astride Nigger while the handsome shepherd, holding 
 the bridle reins over his arm, walked beside her. 
 
 Queer that she should feel so much at home with 
 him! He wasn't a gentleman; not in the sense in 
 which she'd always used the word not in the sense 
 that Gerald Waring was, for instance. Yet of the two, 
 which man had treated her with the greater courtesy? 
 Certainly Rodney Marsh had spoken roughly and had 
 called her a little fool, but she'd deserved it. She had 
 no right to wander out alone over the hills, ignorant 
 as she was of this sort of life, and of any dangers she 
 might encounter. Women who landed themselves in 
 difficulties and then had to shriek to some man to 
 come and rescue them risking the man's life thereby 
 were idiots perfectly pernicious idiots. Marsh had 
 certainly pooh-poohed the idea of danger to himself; 
 but, if nothing else, at least she'd been a nuisance to 
 him. She was being a nuisance now delaying him on 
 his homeward way. Well, she'd try to be particularly 
 nice to make up for it. She'd try never to "conde-
 
 Second Impressions 37 
 
 scend" to him, as she knew that secretly she did, just 
 a little, "condescend." 
 
 "You're playing polo in the practice match against 
 Omoana tomorrow, aren't you?" 
 
 "So the boss says." 
 
 "We're coming down to watch the game Mrs. 
 Holmes and I, and the children. I believe we're 
 bringing tea." 
 
 "Ever seen polo?" 
 
 "Yes, once or twice at Ranelagh." 
 
 "Huh-Ranelagh!" 
 
 She knew from his tone that he'd heard of Ranelagh 
 that he was thinking she was being "superior" again. 
 
 "Why do you say 'Ranelagh' like that?" she asked. 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 "In that half sneering way." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean." 
 
 "Yes, you do. You evidently think Ranelagh has 
 rather a grand sound, and that I'm trying to be grand 
 in saying I've been there." 
 
 "Well, so it is, isn't it?" 
 
 "Grand? Well, it's a smart sort of club but lots 
 of people who aren't a bit smart can get tickets at 
 times. That's how I went I'm not at all grand." 
 
 "I didn't think you were, but I don't like any one 
 who puts on side." 
 
 "Because I'm perfectly natural, you think I'm 
 'putting on side,' as you call it, when you said you'd 
 been to Christchurch to the Grand National?" 
 
 "That's different." 
 
 "No, it isn't. But I'm not going to argue with you. 
 I'm very grateful to you for what you've done for me 
 today, and I want you to believe that." 
 
 He was silent, and after a moment she went on:
 
 38 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "I'm sorry I was so stupid about . . . crying when 
 you drove off that . . . that horrible horse. But I was 
 awfully frightened, and you shouted at me." 
 
 "Well, you ought to have known better than to go 
 into that paddock." 
 
 His tone was still a trifle dogged, but it was dis- 
 tinctly softened. 
 
 "How could I know? I'm ignorant of all the things 
 that are just a matter of course to you; but then, on 
 the other hand, I probably know a few things you 
 don't." 
 
 "Those things aren't important." 
 
 "Not to you but to others they are. There's a 
 pretty big slice of the world outside New Zealand, 
 you know." Directly the words were spoken, she re- 
 gretted them. "I'm sorry I said that, but still it's 
 true. It's narrow-minded to think that nothing out- 
 side your own little experience matters." 
 
 "I'll be narrow-minded then." 
 
 "Well, I won't. I'm going to get you to teach me 
 lots of things." 
 
 "Are you? I'm not so sure." 
 
 "I am. You're obstinate and self-willed, but you're 
 kind too." 
 
 "You seem to know a lot about me." 
 
 "I do you're honest and brave." 
 
 "Anything more?" 
 
 "Oh, lots I've only told you the nice things. The 
 others would take too long." 
 
 He laughed. "Obstinate and self-willed! That isn't 
 very nice, is it? Well, here we are at the stockyard. 
 You'll have to tell me the rest some other time." 
 
 She shook her head, smiling at him. 
 
 "No, we none of us want to be told the bad things.
 
 Second Impressions 39 
 
 What's the use? If we're honest, we know them al- 
 ready." She slid down from the saddle. "Good-by, 
 and thank you ... for a very pleasant afternoon." 
 
 She left him standing in front of the garage and 
 made her way up towards the house. 
 
 2. 
 
 On the polo ground which was merely a tolerably 
 flat paddock across the river beyond the woolshed 
 the last spell before tea-time was now in progress. 
 
 Holmes, Rodney Marsh, Waring and Bill Ralston, 
 constituted the Tirau team playing against Omoana. 
 The Coast Team for the Wairiri Tournament in 
 Christmas week would consist of four of these eight 
 players. This was not polo as played at Ranelagh. 
 Owing to the roughness of the ground it was a great 
 deal more dangerous; and although all the players 
 were magnificent horsemen and strong hitters, some 
 of the ponies were unschooled and green. Waring was 
 the only one of the two teams who was faultlessly 
 turned out in regulation polo kit. Most of the others 
 wore old riding breeches and loose shirts. 
 
 About fifty spectators in cars and buggies drawn 
 up along the boundary line watched the game, fol- 
 lowing every stroke and galloping rush of the players 
 with eager interest. A fire had been lighted by Ann 
 and Vera Holmes at a little distance from the cars and 
 nearer the river bank; and two tin billies, blackened 
 by the smoke, were hung above it, gipsy fashion. The 
 referee's whistle announced half-time, and the sweat- 
 ing ponies were handed over to a few attendant lads 
 to be walked about the field, while the players re- 
 freshed themselves with tea.
 
 40 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "This is a democratic country," thought Ann; "a 
 country where it is often said that Jack is as good as 
 his master. But is he in the master's eyes?" Ann, 
 looking at the two sharply-defined groups during the 
 interval for tea, the group that gathered round the 
 Holmes's rather shabby car, and that which had for 
 its center the brand new Buick driven by Mrs. Bentley 
 of the Omoana "pub," answered her own question iw 
 the negative. Only one of the polo players was in- 
 cluded in Mrs. Bentley's party^-Rodney Marsh. 
 
 The upper classes and the lower were as distinctly 
 typified in these two groups, and divided as sharply, 
 as "the gentry" would be in England from those of 
 a less exalted station. But what constituted a claim 
 to "gentility" here? The heritage of gentle birth? 
 Hardly that, for though Holmes and Waring and 
 others were undoubtedly well born, Ralston's grand- 
 father had been a grocer in a small provincial town 
 in England, while at least two of the wealthiest sheep- 
 farmers now enjoying Vera Holmes's excellent cakes 
 and sandwiches had sprung from almost illiterate 
 parents. 
 
 "A good education, a profession, or the ownership 
 of land," thought Ann. "But particularly the owner- 
 ship of land. Perhaps that's the way in which all aris- 
 tocracies arise perhaps there is some virtue in the 
 possession of estates far outweighing the mere owner- 
 ship of money." But her spirit rebelled a little against 
 the knowledge that the young man with whom she'd 
 talked quite frankly and happily the day before, was 
 outside the charmed circle of the elect! 
 
 She was standing a little apart from the others- 
 waiting near the camp fire for the second billy to boil 
 when Waring approached her. He put his hand
 
 Second Impressions 41 
 
 into the pockets of his white cord riding-breeches, and 
 held out a penny on his open palm. 
 
 She shook her head, smiling at him. 
 
 "I don't sell my thoughts," she said. "Not for so 
 little as that, at any rate." 
 
 It was not the first time they had met this after- 
 noon, and she was conscious that the resentment she 
 4iad felt towards him during that little scene in the 
 schoolroom five days previously, had evaporated. 
 What had dispelled 4t? His good looks, his daring 
 horsemanship, the interest he excited in practically 
 all the women present, or his carefully veiled, but 
 none the less persistent pursuit of her? Ann, being 
 honest, knew that all these things had influenced her, 
 but the last of them more potently than all the others. 
 She told herself that she was a vain little flirt, but that 
 didn't prevent her from smiling into the rather in- 
 solent, sleepy-lidded eyes which looked at her so 
 steadily when he was quite sure they happened to be 
 unobserved. 
 
 Ann now labored under no delusions as to his 
 intentions. He was quite willing to make love to her, 
 but he was not going to run the risk of having the 
 flirtation discovered by others. "He's used to this kind 
 of thing," thought Ann, "the professional philan- 
 derer. He's probably made love to every woman in 
 the district before now." 
 
 She ought to have resented the boldly expressed ad- 
 miration in his eyes, but she didn't. She was quite 
 confident of being able to deal with him now; the 
 awkwardness she had felt during their interview in 
 the schoolroom had disappeared. Playing with fire, as 
 a pastime probably began with Eve, but Ann im- 
 agined herself warranted fireproof. So she remained
 
 42 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 for a few moments talking and laughing with Waring 
 until the billy boiled, and he carried it back to Mrs. 
 Holmes, who was dispensing tea. 
 
 But in spite of the fact that Rodney Marsh was not 
 included in the party "above the salt" or, perhaps, 
 because of that fact Ann was determined not to leave 
 the polo ground without having had a word or two 
 with him. He shouldn't have cause to think that her 
 frankly given comradeship of the day before meant 
 nothing; and an opportunity to speak to him was 
 provided for her by Mrs. Holmes, who at the close of 
 the match sent the governess to collect the little girls 
 from the other end of the ground. 
 
 Biddy and Jo were as usual amongst the ponies and 
 the attendant grooms (though these were unofficial 
 grooms, being Maori boys, shepherds, lads from the 
 small milking farms, and others) and Jo was dancing 
 round Rodney, exclaiming: 
 
 "Biddy's not going to ride Playboy home I am. 
 You promised me you know you did!" 
 
 "You're neither of you going to ride," said Ann. 
 "You're to run along to the car at once." 
 
 There was a slight argument, but eventually they 
 set off towards their mother, and Ann was for a mo- 
 ment alone with Marsh. 
 
 "I hope I didn't give Nigger a sore back yesterday," 
 she said. 
 
 "I don't think he noticed you were there," he 
 answered. 
 
 "I wasn't part of the time," she replied, and they 
 both laughed. 
 
 "Rod, we're waiting for you!" Mrs. Bentley's voice 
 came sharply from the driver's seat of the Buick. 
 
 In the back of the car sat her brother, Jack Smith
 
 Second Impressions 43 
 
 the young man who had chaffed Rodney about the 
 "old school ma'am" on the day of Ann's arrival. 
 
 "Don't be all night! Come along," the woman called 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Right you are I'm ready." 
 
 Rodney Marsh lifted his hat to Ann, climbed up 
 beside Mrs. Bentley, and the Omoana car moved 
 swiftly off. 
 
 Biddy turned to look over her shoulder and called: 
 
 "Mummy's waving to us to hurry, Miss Merrill!" 
 
 "Yes, wait for me." 
 
 Conscious of a curious sense of discomfiture, Ann 
 was glad of Biddy's outstretched hand. She had be- 
 lieved the young man might feel slighted if she took 
 no notice of him! Well, she had enough sense of 
 humor to smile at her own expense, but the smile 
 was a little rueful. He was superbly indifferent to 
 her notice, or her neglect! Ann recognized that this 
 was true, and was annoyed with herself because she 
 was not altogether free from a sense of chagrin. But 
 to have "condescended" and to find the recipient of 
 the condescension profoundly unconscious of it, and 
 unmoved by the honor, is always a trifle galling. 
 
 "Rodney goes over to stay at Omoana every Satur- 
 day night," chattered Biddy. "Emily says he goes 
 on the spree. Dan's going to take his ponies home." 
 
 Ann felt disgusted with herself. Why bother her 
 head about an ignorant young man who "went on 
 the spree?" But what a picture he was! Who could 
 resist the temptation of looking twice at this shepherd 
 with the proud head and the beautiful physique of a 
 Grecian statue come to life? 
 
 Evidently Mrs. Bentley couldn't, thought Ann 
 drily.
 
 44 Wild f Wild Heart 
 
 3- 
 
 Ann had to give the little girls their evening meal 
 as soon as they reached home. 
 
 "I know you won't mind having something with 
 them," said Vera Holmes. "We'll be such a crowd in 
 the dining-room." 
 
 Ann didn't mind in the least. She would rather be 
 with the children than with so many strangers. 
 
 Bill Ralston and his wife and her sister, Nell Brun- 
 ton, Waring, and three members of the Omoana Polo 
 Team, Kent, Ganthorne and Stafford, had all re- 
 turned to Tirau to dinner. Sam Stafford was the only 
 married member of the Omoana trio, and his wife, 
 Mabel, was with him. 
 
 "We'll probably dance or play bridge or something 
 in the smoking-room afterwards; so as soon as the 
 children are in bed you could come in and join us if 
 you liked. But for goodness' sake keep those wretched 
 infants out of the way. They're such a nuisance when 
 visitors are here." 
 
 Ann had soon learned that the one supreme duty 
 expected of her was that of "keeping the children out 
 of the way." . . . She was far more nurse than gover- 
 ness; but if Mrs. Holmes asked her to perform duties 
 in connection with the children's clothes, meals, and 
 general well-being, which she might not have been 
 required to undertake in England, her employer at 
 any rate seemed to be quite willing to include her 
 in all the social life of the station and the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 Vera Holmes was still a puzzle to Ann but a fas- 
 cinating puzzle. For though at times she was irri- 
 table and inconsiderate and subject to sudden fits of
 
 Second Impressions 45 
 
 temper, yet something that impression Ann had re- 
 ceived at first of an unhappy tormented soul seemed 
 to rouse in the younger woman a curious sense of 
 sympathy. And like the little girl who had the curl 
 right down the middle of her forehead, when Vera 
 Holmes was good, she was very, very good. No one 
 could be more delightful, or more charming or more 
 amusing than Vera Holmes in a good mood. But Vera 
 in a bad mood! Even the children had learnt to recog- 
 nize the storm signals and to give Mummy a wide 
 berth at such times. 
 
 But Ann's sympathy and liking for Mrs. Holmes 
 did not blind her to the fact that probably of the two, 
 Dick Holmes was more to be pitied. He quite evi- 
 dently worshiped the turbulent-tempered woman he 
 had married, and she hurt him daily in a score of 
 ways. Her attitude towards the children, her selfish- 
 ness towards him, her dislike of the country, were 
 continual pin-pricks. But nothing alienated his af- 
 fection. Ann was sure of this. Perhaps he found con- 
 solation in the fervent devotion of the two little girls 
 who were his tireless champions. Daddy to them was 
 the most humorous and most gifted, and most om- 
 nipotent and adorable of all mankind. He was rather 
 adorable Ann agreed with them to a certain extent 
 here. He was so genuine, and so kind. Perhaps not 
 so all-powerful as the children believed him. His 
 gentleness of disposition would for ever make it im- 
 possible for him to act the strong, silent man, but he 
 wasn't lacking in character. Ann, trying to sort out 
 her impressions, decided that though no one could 
 describe him as effeminate, he had a good deal of the 
 woman in him. The little girls didn't so much mind 
 if Mummy failed to come and say "good night" to
 
 46 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 them, but if for any reason Daddy didn't turn up 
 that indeed was a just cause for complaint! But they 
 were seldom forgotten by their father. 
 
 Tonight Ann had found them troublesome. If they 
 weren't "out of hand," as they put it, they were re- 
 markably near to being so. They were excited, and 
 declined to settle down. Well, if they couldn't go out 
 and talk to the grown-ups, they'd have a pillow-fight. 
 No! Ann forbade the pillow-fight; they were to be 
 quiet. Well, they'd play quoits on the veranda. No, 
 they were to stay in bed and go to sleep. 
 
 Ann knew she couldn't leave them while they were 
 in this restless state, and from the open windows of the 
 smoking-room she could hear the music of the gramo- 
 phone, and the sound of laughter. They were dancing 
 there! Ann's little silver shoes beat time to the music. 
 She was already in her white evening gown. Oh, why 
 wouldn't the children go to sleep and release her 
 from duty? She would love to dance. But she realized 
 that in all probability she would be kept here for 
 hours. On other nights when they had been wakeful 
 they had given her their promise not to leave their 
 beds, but tonight she could extract no promise from 
 them. 
 
 "Then I must stay here," she said, and took up a 
 book to read. But they wouldn't even let her do that. 
 They were very unkind and naughty children, she 
 told them. 
 They agreed. 
 
 "We have to be naughty sometimes, we can't help 
 it. I have a black dog that comes and sits on my left 
 shoulder. He's called Ponko. And Jo's black dog is 
 Bronko."
 
 Second Impressions 47 
 
 "He's bigger than yours," said Jo. "Bronko's as 
 big as Playboy." 
 
 "Ponko's as big as an elephant." 
 
 The black dogs grew in size. Bother the little 
 wretches and their black dogs! 
 
 "May we come in?" Holmes with another man 
 stood in the doorway. 
 
 Instantly black dogs of titanic statue were for- 
 gotten in shrieks of: 
 
 "Daddy, come and sit on my bed!" 
 
 "No, you sat on Jo's last night." 
 
 "I'm not going to sit on anybody's bed," said their 
 father grimly. "I'm going to spank you both good and 
 hard, if you don't behave yourselves. You've kept Miss 
 Merrill here for nearly two hours. A pair of ob- 
 noxious children, that's what you are." 
 
 "Noxious weeds like briars and blackberries," ob- 
 served Biddy. 
 
 "Yes, pests to the sheep-farmer to one sheep-farmer 
 anyhow." 
 
 "Not you, Daddy. Now don't tell stories. You love 
 us." 
 
 "When you're good I can put up with you." 
 
 "Oh, Biddy's a noxshus weed!" exclaimed Jo trium- 
 phantly. "Biddy-biddys are awful things. Miss Merrill 
 got them all stuck over her skirt, didn't you, Miss 
 Merrill? and if it gets in the sheep's wool it's puf- 
 fectly terrible " 
 
 "Jo, be quietl Daddy's going to tell us a story." 
 
 "Who says he is?" asked Holmes. 
 
 "I say so," said Biddy. 
 
 "So do I," said Jo. 
 
 Waring had moved forward from the doorway. 
 
 "Come and dance, Miss Merrill."
 
 48 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Go along," said Holmes. "I'll see to these little 
 devils." 
 
 "Daddy, you're being very rude to your beautiful 
 children, isn't he, Jo?" 
 
 "Damned rude," said Jo. 
 
 "Now! Now! That's not allowed," said Holmes. 
 
 But unfortunately both Jo and Biddy had seen that 
 their elders were laughing, and so they laughed too. 
 
 "You said devils," Joe defended herself. "Damned's 
 out of the Bible too. It means 'condemned' that's 
 all. Miss Hildred told us one day when you said it." 
 
 "Waring, take Miss Merrill off before she gives me 
 notice. No self-respecting governess should be called 
 upon to listen to such horrible and depraved little 
 girls!" 
 
 (They hated being called "little girls" by him 
 youngsters, kids, children, devils anything was better 
 than "little girls"!) 
 
 "So namby-pamby!" said Biddy. 
 
 Ann, nothing loath, went off with Waring to the 
 smoking-room. Waring danced well, and even knew 
 the Charleston. Ann was surprised. Well, she needn't 
 be, he told her. He'd been in London less than a year 
 ago. But when the dance ended, and he wanted her 
 to walk down the garden with him as far as the tennis 
 court, Ann said: No, she'd spoil her shoes; and so 
 they sat in two deck-chairs on the veranda. 
 
 But it was not her feet that Ann was anxious about. 
 It was her head. She didn't want to lose it. She had 
 realized during the dance that it might not be quite 
 so easy to play with fire as she had thought during the 
 afternoon. Discretion was the better part of valor. 
 She was here as governess, and as governess a quite
 
 Second Impressions 49 
 
 prudent, well-behaved governess she meant to stay. 
 She didn't really care a straw for Waring, and she 
 didn't flatter herself that he was in any way serious as 
 far as she herself was concerned. But he was dis- 
 turbing. He meant to be. It was easy to drift into a 
 flirtation, but with a man like Gerald Waring it 
 might not prove quite so easy to find one's moorings 
 again. Yes, the veranda was decidedly safer. And when 
 Mrs. Holmes appeared in the lighted french windows 
 of the smoking-room, she was glad she had not chosen 
 even the smallest rush-light to play with; for in Vera 
 Holmes's voice was a sharp note that Ann had learnt 
 to know quite well. So far, it hadn't been directed 
 against her not until this moment. No one else might 
 have sensed anything of irritation in Mrs. Holmes's 
 tone. But Ann was quick. The elder woman didn't 
 seem altogether pleased that she had appeared 
 amongst the dancers. Ann realized in this moment 
 that her employer would not be likely to tolerate any 
 flirtation carried on by "the governess." Well, Mrs. 
 Holmes should be given no cause for disapproval, de- 
 cided Ann. 
 
 "I wish you'd get me some aspirin, Miss Merrill. 
 I've got an awfully bad head. There's a bottle on my 
 dressing-table, or in the medicine chest, or somewhere 
 in my room. And bring a glass of water from the 
 dining-room, will you?" 
 
 "Yes, of course." 
 
 Ann rose quite cheerfully to do as she was asked, 
 and passed down the lighted hall to Mrs. Holmes's 
 bedroom. The women's wraps were in this room the 
 men had used Holmes's room opposite in which to 
 change. Ann understood that Mrs. Holmes was a bad 
 sleeper. She walked in her sleep sometimes, and had
 
 50 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 warned Ann not to be surprised if she entered her 
 room unexpectedly in the dark. 
 
 "Just lead me back to bed if I'm still asleep. I may 
 wake up quite naturally; but don't be frightened and 
 scream at me." 
 
 Searching now with a lighted candle on the 
 dressing-table for the aspirin, Ann noticed that the 
 french windows leading to the eastern veranda were 
 open. 
 
 "I wonder if she leaves them open all night," she 
 thought. "Not very safe if she's inclined to wander." 
 But the wire screens were closed. "Perhaps she has 
 some way of fastening those." 
 
 It was some time before Ann found the aspirin and 
 got the water from the dining-room; and when she 
 returned to the veranda Mrs. Holmes was there 
 alone. She was sitting in the shadow with her hand 
 over her eyes. For a moment Ann thought she had 
 been crying. Then she dismissed such a foolish idea. 
 
 "How does the head feel now?" she asked. 
 
 "Perfectly rotten," answered Vera. "Neuralgia, I 
 think. I suppose I shan't sleep a wink tonight." 
 
 She took the aspirin, and swallowed it. 
 
 Ann hesitated for a moment beside her. 
 
 "Were you displeased with me for dancing, Mrs. 
 Holmes?" she said. 
 
 "No, of course not. What makes you ask that?" 
 
 There was a queer harsh note in the elder woman's 
 voice. 
 
 "I don't want to displease you," went on Ann. "I'm 
 happy here, and I want to stay." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I love this kind of life. It fascinates me 
 and I'm fond of the children and . . . and of you."
 
 Second Impressions 51 
 
 "I don't think I've done much to make you fond of 
 me." 
 
 "Do you think it's what people do that makes you 
 fond of them? I think it's what they are." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs. 
 Holmes said abruptly: 
 
 "And what do you think I am?" 
 
 Ann hesitated. 
 
 "It's difficult to put what I feel into words. I know 
 I don't really understand you you're too . . . too com- 
 plex to grasp quickly. That's what makes you so inter- 
 esting." 
 
 Mrs. Holmes laughed. 
 
 "You're a quaint child. And are others the Ral- 
 stons, Mr. Waring, Dick are they complex too?" 
 
 "Oh no they're much easier to understand." 
 
 "Well explain them. I didn't know we had such 
 a famous judge of character here. What about the 
 Ralstons?" 
 
 "I've only just met them. I think they're jolly, 
 good-hearted, healthy-minded sort of people. But I 
 haven't thought much about them." 
 
 "Really! And Mr. Waring?" 
 
 Ann was silent. 
 
 "Have you thought much about him? Does he 
 interest you?" 
 
 "Yes, in a way. Am I being impertinent, talking 
 about your friends like this?" 
 
 "Not at all. You're amusing. Go on with your 
 analysis." 
 
 She took out a cigarette, and lit it. 
 
 "He's attractive, but he's . . . selfish." 
 
 "All men are selfish." 
 
 "Oh no," said Ann quickly, "Mr. Holmes isn't.
 
 52 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 He's very unselfish. He'd always sacrifice himself for 
 any one he loved." 
 
 "For me, for instance?" 
 
 "Of course. But he's kind to every one, I think. 
 Rodney Marsh calls him 'a white man.' " 
 
 "When did you see Rodney Marsh?" 
 
 "Yesterday, when I was walking out at the back of 
 the run. I twisted my ankle a little and he helped me 
 home. Let me ride his horse." 
 
 "Really." 
 
 Mrs. Holmes obviously wasn't interested in the 
 head-shepherd. 
 
 "Mr. Holmes has told me I may have a horse to 
 ride all of my own while I'm here. Isn't it good of 
 him?" 
 
 "You must ride if you take the children out." 
 
 Ann felt that Mrs. Holmes was no longer paying 
 much attention to the conversation. The Ralstons 
 came out to say "good night"; and Ann thought it 
 might be more tactful on her part if she slipped 
 away to bed. 
 
 But she couldn't sleep at once. She had been ex- 
 cited by her day. By new scenes and new faces, and 
 perhaps more than a little by Gerald Waring. She 
 tried not to think of him. In her heart of hearts she 
 knew he wasn't worth thinking about, and that 
 the interest he excited in her that he deliberately 
 endeavored to excite was not a very healthy interest. 
 For it had in it an element of baseness. And he was 
 not troubled with scruples as far as women were con- 
 cerned. His manner made that plain enough. She
 
 Second Impressions 53 
 
 hoped he wouldn't come often to Tirau. He was 
 staying tonight, but leaving early in the morning. 
 He had told her he was beginning his mustering next 
 day for the shearing at Kopu. 
 
 Ann dozed for an hour or two, only to wake per- 
 fectly convinced that for the rest of the night she 
 would sleep no more. She struck a match, and looked 
 at her watch. Well, it was nearly three, and the night 
 was over. Why not get up and see the day break over 
 the dew-wet paddocks and the dim quiet hills? She 
 loved the dawn, but she was usually too sleepy and 
 too lazy to leave her bed at sunrise. Now she would 
 have the mystery of the waking world all to herself, 
 and she would see this new strange land in a new and 
 lovely way. Suddenly a longing possessed her to watch 
 the sun come up from the sea. How wonderful the 
 line of foaming breakers rolling in from the wide 
 Pacific would look in the mysterious dawn. It was less 
 than two miles beyond the woolshed and the river to 
 the beach. She could cross the swing bridge down by 
 the sheep yards, and walk in the pale light of the 
 coming day across the paddocks to the sandhills, and 
 the sea. 
 
 She rose and dressed, and passed out without a 
 sound across her veranda into the garden. The stars 
 were still bright, and there was a faded moon. A 
 little breeze moved through the trees. Surely the dawn 
 was late in breaking? And then suddenly Ann remem- 
 bered that her watch had been put forward to station 
 time, which was an hour ahead of town time. Only 
 about two o'clock then, instead of three! How stupid 
 of her! She had rounded the front of the house, and 
 was on the eastern side when this realization came 
 to her. She stopped. What should she do? Return
 
 54 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 to her room and read for another hour, or go on? 
 But as she hesitated she was suddenly aware that 
 some one else was in the garden not far away from 
 her. Along the path towards the veranda a shadowy 
 form was passing. For a second Ann believed that 
 she had been seen, and recognized, for the figure 
 halted and stood rigid, then turned from the house, 
 and with uncertain steps came forward. As the moon- 
 light shone on the advancing woman's face, Ann knew 
 that it could only be by chance that the draped figure 
 stumbled towards the spot where she was standing; 
 for Vera Holmes's eyes were closed. She was walking 
 in her sleep. 
 
 Ann had been warned of this, but it was her first 
 vision of a sleep-walker; and in the shadowy garden 
 where the tree-tops whispered eerily under the stars, 
 the sight was uncanny, and more than a little terrify- 
 ing. Quickly into her mind flashed remembrance of 
 what Mrs. Holmes had said when discussing her in- 
 somnia. "Don't wake me lead me back to bed." 
 Mastering her fear, Ann took the figure by the arm, 
 very gently, so that she might not waken the sleeper, 
 and together they moved slowly towards the house. 
 Would she be able to mount to the veranda, Ann 
 wondered? Yes! After a moment's hesitation Vera 
 Holmes's slippered foot had found the step, and they 
 were together near the bedroom window. Ann could 
 feel beneath her hand the woman's arm shaking as if 
 with ague all her body under the silk wrapper was 
 trembling. Then all at once she seemed to waken. 
 Her eyes opened, and she stared at Ann in terror. 
 Something in the wild eyes moved Ann's heart to a 
 sharp pity. She took the trembling figure in her 
 strong young arms, and held her tight.
 
 Second Impressions 55 
 
 "Don't be frightened," she said. "It's only me 
 Ann Merrill you were walking in your sleep. It's 
 all right now." 
 
 Then suddenly, she knew that on her shoulder 
 Vera Holmes was sobbing; and she soothed her as she 
 would have soothed a child. 
 
 "Hush! Hush! Don't cry! Come back with me! 
 Into your room to bed." 
 
 She pulled wide the wire-screened door, and led 
 the wanderer through, felt for the bed, and soon had 
 wrapped the blankets tightly round the weeping 
 woman whose distress she longed to comfort. 
 
 "Shall I light the lamp?" 
 
 "No, no," said Vera Holmes. 
 
 "Very well lie still. There's nothing to be fright- 
 ened of. How lucky that I met you. You might have 
 wandered down into the paddocks. Are you warmer 
 now?" 
 
 "Yes, go back to your room " 
 
 "I don't like to leave you." 
 
 "I'm all right now." 
 
 Her voice was more controlled and steady. 
 
 "Was I walking in my sleep?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It was good of you to help me." The shivering 
 and the sobbing were abating. "Why were you out 
 there just then?" 
 
 "I thought the dawn was breaking and I was wake- 
 ful. I wanted to see the sunrise." 
 
 "The dawn? But it's too early for the dawn." 
 
 "I know I forgot that my watch was set at station 
 time." 
 
 "It's only just after two by town time, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 56 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Go back to your room. I'm sure I shall sleep now." 
 
 "Wouldn't you rather I stayed with you for a little 
 while?" 
 
 "No not now I know I'll sleep." 
 
 "Good night then." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 Back in her own room Ann lay down for half an 
 hour, waiting for the dawn to break. But she did not 
 see it. She fell asleep instead. Yet on the edge of 
 dreamland she was conscious of some question she 
 had meant to ask. Some little explanation she had 
 wanted. What was it? Never mind! It couldn't be 
 of any importance. 
 
 She was sleeping soundly when Emily entered 
 with her morning tea.
 
 Ill 
 
 The Clash of Temperament 
 
 i. 
 
 A WEEK later Ann really did see the sunrise. 
 
 Since her adventure with Mrs. Holmes in that mys- 
 terious hour before the dawn, the girl had often 
 wakened from sleep, startled at some unusual sound, 
 wondering if the poor somnambulist was again rest- 
 less. But each occasion proved a false alarm. Then 
 came a night when, roused from a deep sleep, she felt 
 convinced she was not mistaken. A stealthy footstep 
 had sounded in the hall! It could not be either Mrs. 
 Pratt or Emily, for they did not come up from the 
 cottage to the homestead before six in the morning. 
 She listened breathlessly. Undoubtedly some one was 
 moving about now in the kitchen. Suppose Mrs. 
 Holmes in one of her nocturnal rambles set the 
 wooden house on fire! 
 
 Ann thrust her feet into her slippers, and hurriedly 
 threw on a wrapper. Making her way along the pas- 
 sage, she saw a light under the kitchen door. Well! 
 At any rate she wouldn't this time have the uncanny 
 experience of meeting Mrs. Holmes in the dark. That 
 was a comfort. She opened the door gently, and saw 
 the lamp lighted, a fire burning in the stove, steam 
 coming from the kettle, and a man bending over a 
 
 57
 
 58 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 saucepan in which eggs were being cooked and this 
 at an hour or two after midnight! 
 
 A strange proceeding! The meal could scarcely be 
 supper, seeing that the entire family had retired to 
 rest shortly before ten o'clock. And breakfast, soon 
 after midnight, would surely entail very little fast to 
 break! The man at the stove was clad in an old coat 
 and riding trousers; and when he turned she saw, to 
 her still further astonishment, that he was Rodney 
 Marsh! 
 
 "What has happened?" she whispered. "Is any one 
 ill?" 
 
 He turned to look at her in some surprise. She had 
 closed the door behind her in case she should disturb 
 the sleeping house. 
 
 "What are you doing up at this time in the morn- 
 ing?" he asked in his turn. 
 
 "I wondered who was here." 
 
 "I'm just getting some breakfast for the boss." 
 
 "Why? Is he going away?" 
 
 "Going away! Of course not. We're only starting 
 to muster." 
 
 "In the middle of the night?" 
 
 He was quite coolly setting things on the table. 
 
 "Don't you know that sheep have to be mustered 
 before dawn? After sunrise they scatter. It makes the 
 work twice as hard. At night they're all pretty well 
 together on the higher country." 
 
 Through the door behind her, Dick Holmes en- 
 tered. He looked rather more astonished than she 
 had done, but it was at her appearance here at this 
 hour, not the shepherd's. 
 
 "Miss Merrill thought I was a burglar," said Rod- 
 ney, grinning.
 
 The Clash of Temperament 59 
 
 "We're mustering this morning. Shearing begins 
 tomorrow," explained Holmes. 
 
 "I'm sorry," returned Ann, a trifle abashed. 
 
 "Not at all, the pleasure's ours. Don't run away. 
 Rodney always wakes me and sees that I get breakfast 
 before we start. Don't go. Have a cup of tea." 
 
 "There you are," said Marsh, setting a cup on the 
 table in front of her. "Bread and butter?" 
 
 Ann did not stop to think that well-conducted 
 governesses do not as a rule sit down in their dressing- 
 gowns at 1.30 A.M. to take tea in the kitchen with the 
 master of the house arid the head-shepherd. She sat 
 down. 
 
 "I feel as if this were an air-raid tea party," she said. 
 
 "You don't remember them, do you?" 
 
 "Rather. I was ten when the war started." 
 
 "I was nearly smashed up by the bomb that 
 dropped at Swan and Edgar's corner. I was home on 
 leave from France. I had the wind up all right that 
 night." 
 
 "I remember seeing the barricades there next day," 
 said Ann. 
 
 She and Holmes continued to discuss the war. Rod- 
 ney Marsh was out of this, but at last Holmes turned 
 to him: 
 
 "Marsh has a grievance. He was born too late. Only 
 sixteen when the war ended, poor chap. If he'd only 
 been a few years older he might have been flourishing 
 a wooden leg by now, or still coughing up poison gas, 
 or enjoying a bit of lead in his lung, by way of a 
 treat. It's a darn shame the way some people have 
 all the fun, isn't it, Rod?" 
 
 "Oh, well! I wish I'd seen it, all the same," grum- 
 bled Marsh.
 
 60 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Do you? Well, I suppose that's what we all wished 
 before we saw it!" 
 
 Holmes dismissed the subject, and he and Rodney 
 talked of other matters. The shearing of Waring 
 having already "cut out" at Kopu. Ann, sipping her 
 hot tea, and nibbling her bread and butter, was 
 thoroughly enjoying herself. But at last Holmes rose. 
 
 "I think we'd better push off." 
 
 They were gone. And as Ann dressed and went 
 out to see the sunrise, she felt that she knew and liked 
 both men better since that very unconventional break- 
 fast in the dawn. 
 
 2. 
 
 Shearing had begun. Sitting in the school-room on 
 the hill, one could hear from across the paddocks the 
 beat of the engine at the woolshed, the barking of 
 dogs, and the bleating of sheep. Men moving about 
 in the hot sunshine amongst the dusty yards were 
 whistling and shouting at their dogs. A thin column 
 of smoke rose up from the camp fire near the tent of 
 the Maori shearers. The engine stopped. That meant 
 ten o'clock, and smoke-o for all hands. They had 
 started at five, with an hour off for breakfast. 
 
 The little girls were restless longing to be off 
 across the paddocks to the shed. 
 
 "Not until eleven," said Ann. "Then no more 
 lessons." 
 
 "You're coming down too?" 
 
 "Of course I am I've never seen shearing. You'll 
 have to show me everything." 
 
 "Rodney and Dad have just brought in a mob of 
 sheep. They'll be there too."
 
 The Clash of Temperament 61 
 
 The flies buzzed round them under the hot iron 
 roof; out in the garden locusts rasped; but the inter- 
 minable hour passed at last, and then hats were put 
 on, and away they all sped across the paddocks to the 
 shed. The engine was beating steadily, running the 
 machines within the shed, where the sweating shearers 
 passed comb and cutter over the prostrate sheep, 
 bringing off the gray matted fleece in one thick piece. 
 Holmes and Rodney were in the yards, drafting the 
 ewes and lambs through the race the swinging gate, 
 shutting mothers into one yard, children into another. 
 What an alarmed protest of bleating and baa-ing 
 filled the air! The men shouting to hurry them on, 
 the dogs barking, and the Maori boys the sheep-os 
 laughing and chattering as they filled up the pens 
 inside the shed ready for the shearers. 
 
 "Come along to give us a hand?" shouted Holmes 
 to Ann. 
 
 She nodded, smiling at him, and leaned against the 
 outer post and rail fence of the yards. He came across 
 to her. 
 
 "Like to have a look at the shed first?" 
 
 "I'd love to." 
 
 He glanced a trifle doubtfully at her fresh linen 
 frock. 
 
 "You'll probably get a bit dirty in there. What 
 about your dress?" 
 
 "It'll wash," she answered cheerfully. 
 
 "Come on, then. Come on, young 'uns." 
 
 He led the way in at the back of the shed. Along 
 the length of the building the shearers were ranged, 
 each man at his machine; they were all Maoris, clad 
 in old belted trousers, with a wisp of singlet, or
 
 62 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 striped football jersey, on the upper part of their 
 sweating brown bodies. 
 
 As each sheep was shorn the shearer stepped across 
 "the board," pushed open the door of the pen kept 
 full by the sheep-os and hauling out another animal 
 from within, threw the clumsily matted beast on its 
 back. Then the comb and cutter, guided by an ex- 
 pert hand, moved swiftly under the wool; and within 
 an extraordinarily short space of time the whole fleece 
 lay on the greasy floor, and a slim, creamily shining 
 creature bewildered at the sudden and drastic beauty 
 treatment was on its four legs once more, being 
 hustled through the trap-door out into the counting 
 pen in the yards beyond. 
 
 The fleece-os two grinning Maori girls in colored 
 cotton dresses were kept busy gathering up the dirty 
 fleeces and throwing them on the classing table; while 
 the shed hands two more girls with brooms were 
 hard at work sweeping "the board" clear of dirty 
 matted ends of wool which were not to go into the 
 press. 
 
 A fat smiling Maori woman stood at the classing 
 table. She felt the staple of each fleece, and then 
 threw them one by one into different bins, according 
 to grade and quality. Two men at the iron-framed 
 wool press took the fleeces from the bins, and rammed 
 them into jute bales which, when tightly pressed, 
 would be sewn up and rolled over to an adjoining 
 shed, to be stenciled with the station mark. 
 
 Ann thought the inside of the shed was interesting, 
 but she liked the yards better; and later, when armed 
 with a leafy willow branch she was instructed to keep 
 the sheep moving towards the race, she found she was 
 quite enjoying herself. This was the sort of life she'd
 
 The Clash of Temperament 63 
 
 love, she reflected. So much nicer to be out in the 
 open all day long, with the sun, and the wind, and 
 the blue sky, than to be shut up indoors. Well, per- 
 haps some day she could have a little farm of her 
 own. What would it cost, she wondered? Nearly 400 
 the balance of the money her mother had left her- 
 was safely lodged in the savings bank in Wairiri. But 
 that wouldn't go far in buying a farm, she feared. 
 She was to get another 200 when she was twenty-five, 
 and if she saved . . . No! It didn't sound practicable. 
 Still, most dreams weren't easily realized. 
 
 "You'll be growing into a regular farmer soon," 
 said a voice beside her. 
 
 Rodney Marsh, begrimed and dusty his soiled 
 shirt open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up above his 
 elbows, and his old felt hat on the back of his head- 
 stood beside her. 
 
 "Just what I was thinking I'd like to be," she an- 
 swered, flourishing her willow branch, and shouting 
 "Shoo!" at one of the last hesitating sheep. 
 
 Marsh laughed. 
 
 "Wonderful fine farmer you'd make!" he jeered. 
 
 "A better one than you think, perhaps," she an- 
 swered briskly. 
 
 "What do you know about sheep?" 
 
 "Nothing at present. But I could learn. I've learnt 
 not to fall off when I canter, at any rate." 
 
 "That's a great lot to know, isn't it?" 
 
 "I don't mind being laughed at. What are all those 
 things in the wool of the sheep?" 
 
 The laughter died out of Marsh's face. 
 
 "Bathurst burr," he answered shortly. 
 
 "What the children call 'biddy-biddy'?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 64 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "It makes a difference in the value of the wool, 
 doesn't it?" 
 
 He nodded, a little frown drawing down his brows 
 above troubled eyes. 
 
 "Fleeces are light, too. The dry winter and spring 
 meant very little feed for the stock." 
 
 "Will it be a bad shearing?" 
 
 "Just about as bad as it can be. A record bad clip, 
 I should say." 
 
 "Poor Mr. Holmes. How worried he must be." 
 
 "Well, you've got to take the rough with the 
 smooth. But things haven't been too easy for him 
 lately, I'm thinking." 
 
 He pulled himself up suddenly, and shot a little, 
 half-resentful glance at the girl beside him, as though 
 by some obscure mind process he blamed her for his 
 lapse into this semi-confidential discussion of "the 
 boss." 
 
 "All sheep-farmers have bad years and good years," 
 he went on. "You've got to expect a poor clip some- 
 times." 
 
 Hicky the big half-caste in charge of the shearing 
 gang appeared at the back of the shed, and hailed 
 Marsh. 
 
 "Come here a minute, Rod." 
 
 There was an easy assurance, almost insolence of 
 command in the tone, and Ann knew that the young 
 shepherd beside her stiffened. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked coolly. 
 
 "The boss wants you." 
 
 "That's all right, Hicky," said Holmes, who now 
 appeared beside the half-caste in the doorway. Hicky, 
 dismissed, went back into the shed, and Holmes,
 
 The Clash of Temperament 65 . 
 
 followed by the two little girls, made his way out into 
 the yards. 
 
 Ann drove the last sheep into the race as Marsh 
 moved forward to meet "the boss"; and then while 
 the two men talked together, the children joined Ann 
 in the shade of the willows outside the post and rail 
 fence. 
 
 After a moment the engine stopped. It was twelve 
 o'clock, the shearers' dinner time! Across the paddocks 
 Biddy and Jo raced back to the homestead, and Ann 
 followed more slowly with Holmes. She could see that 
 something had put him out and concluded that the 
 prospect of the poor clip was the cause of his annoy- 
 ance. But when he spoke she realized that the worry, 
 though more immediate, was less serious. 
 
 It appeared that Marsh and the burly half-caste 
 were on bad terms, and the sheep-farmer's chief pre- 
 occupation at the moment was to prevent any open 
 disagreement. 
 
 "I wouldn't have engaged Ricky's gang if I hadn't 
 been forced to," said Holmes. "One doesn't want 
 trouble at shearing time, and they're both difficult 
 customers to handle. However if they stick to their 
 own jobs there's no necessity for them to come up 
 against one another. And Hicky spends most of his 
 evenings at the Omoana 'pub'." 
 
 "Perhaps that's the cause of the trouble," said Ann 
 shrewdly. 
 
 Holmes shrugged. 
 
 "It may be. A pity Rod has got mixed up with 
 that crowd. He's too fine a lad for them. However, 
 he's twenty-five and it's his own business, not mine. 
 All I ask is that he doesn't let his private quarrels 
 interfere with my work."
 
 66 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 During luncheon Ann realized that the likelihood 
 of a bad clip, and the trouble between the head- 
 shepherd and the shearing expert, were not the only 
 difficulties with which Dick Holmes had to contend at 
 the moment. For the past week Vera had been suffer- 
 ing from nerves. She was undoubtedly doing her best 
 to control them, but it seemed as though within her 
 she carried some hidden consuming fire of anger, 
 which at any moment might break forth in violent 
 eruption. 
 
 After the meal Holmes went back to the shed, and 
 the little girls clamored to follow him. 
 
 "You are not to go," said Vera. 
 
 They were all sitting on the veranda together, Ann 
 trimming a hat for Mrs. Holmes, who smoked fiercely 
 and continuously. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Biddy, pouting. 
 
 "Because I say so. I won't have you tearing about 
 down there alone amongst the Maori shearers." 
 
 "Miss Merrill can come too." 
 
 "Miss Merrill is busy." 
 
 "Trimming your old hats! You're selfish she wants 
 to go." 
 
 "Don't talk to me like that," said Vera sharply. 
 Then after a moment she went on, her voice more 
 under control, "Alice and Connie Ralston are coming 
 over to tea with you." 
 
 "I don't want them. I hate them. I won't play with 
 them." 
 
 "You'll do as you're told," again the tone was edged 
 and harsh. 
 
 "You can't make me nice to them if I don't want 
 to be."
 
 The Clash of Temperament 67 
 
 "I'll be nice to them," said Jo, cheerfully. "I like 
 Alice." 
 
 Mrs. Holmes continued to smoke in silence. Biddy, 
 watching her intently, suddenly said aggressively: 
 
 "I am going down to the shed." 
 
 She made a movement as though to carry out her 
 threat, but in a second Mrs. Holmes had sprung from 
 her seat and seized her arm. The child screamed. 
 
 "You're hurting me let me go. You're cross and 
 horrid." 
 
 "How dare you talk to me like that?" 
 
 The fury in Vera Holmes's face was not pleasant to 
 see. 
 
 "Yes, you are horrid. You don't love me, and you 
 don't love Daddy either. It's only Jo and Gerald you 
 like." 
 
 It was then like a flash that the eruption came. Vera 
 Holmes's face was convulsed with passion. Stooping 
 she seized a thick hunting crop lying on the veranda 
 and brought it down heavily across the child's small 
 shoulders. Biddy was screaming now at the top of 
 her lungs. 
 
 "Let me go beast beast I hate you." 
 
 But again and again the heavy crop descended. 
 Suddenly Vera flung it from her, and released the 
 shrieking child. 
 
 "Go up to the schoolroom Jo, you go too," she 
 said hoarsely, and pushing them both down the ve- 
 randa steps, she sank back into her own chair. 
 
 Ann had risen. It had all happened so quickly that 
 she had been powerless to interfere. In any case what 
 could she do? She was appalled by the scene. Biddy 
 had certainly deserved punishment, and probably she 
 had not been so badly hurt, for her clothes had helped
 
 68 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 break the force of the blows; but the child was so 
 small and weak, and Vera Holmes so strong, and the 
 fury in her face so uncontrolled, that Ann felt sick- 
 ened. Biddy, still sobbing violently, rushed up the 
 garden path towards the schoolroom; Jo followed 
 more slowly, turning her head occasionally to watch, 
 as though fascinated, her mother's face. On the ve- 
 randa there was silence. Then the telephone bell rang 
 three long rings the signal for Tirau. 
 
 "I'll go," said Vera. 
 
 She was still trembling, and breathing heavily as 
 though she had been running hard, but at the tele- 
 phone her voice sounded normal once more. 
 
 "Yes? Oh . . . you! Wait a moment." 
 
 She laid down the receiver and stepped back to 
 the veranda. 
 
 "Just go up and see that the children are all right 
 in the school-room, will you Miss Merrill?" 
 
 Ann needed no second bidding. She flew up the 
 garden path. In one corner of the schoolroom Jo 
 was bending over a heap of misery which was Biddy. 
 
 "You can have my red pencil, Bid," she was saying. 
 "The one with the injun-rubber at the end." 
 
 "I don't want it." 
 
 She tried to force the red pencil between the fingers 
 of two hands covering a convulsed and swollen face. 
 
 "I only chewed the injun-rubber a few times. It 
 rubs out quite all right." 
 
 Ann walked over to the prostrate child and gathered 
 her up in her arms. 
 
 "Such a dusty old floor to lie on," she remarked 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Biddy struggled to be free.
 
 The Clash of Temperament 69 
 
 "Go away I don't want you," she sobbed. "I don't 
 want any one." 
 
 "Don't be a stupid old Biddikins," said Ann in as 
 matter-of-fact a tone as she could command. "What's 
 the sense of lying on the floor there amongst all the 
 dust and microbes?" 
 
 "What's microbes?" asked Jo. 
 
 "A microbe is a funny wriggly little creature it 
 turns, and twirls, and squirms." 
 
 "Biddy's a microbe!" said Jo delightedly. 
 
 "I'm not." Biddy gave a violent kick in her sister's 
 direction. 
 
 "Of course she isn't," said Ann. 
 
 In spite of Biddy's struggles she still held her, and 
 sat down now in the one easy chair the schoolroom 
 possessed. 
 
 "I'll tell you a story about a very funny little mi- 
 crobe that lived in a teeny weeny hole in the floor." 
 
 Biddy's struggles subsided. She was still sobbing 
 in a sort of hiccupping fashion, her poor little face all 
 blotched and swollen, but she wanted to hear about 
 the microbe. She liked Ann's stories. 
 
 With the child cradled in her arms, and Jo's fat 
 jolly face upturned to hers, Ann sat and racked her 
 brains to invent humorous and exciting adventures 
 for the microbe. But to tell the truth this was not 
 easy. Her heart was aching for the child she held. 
 No doubt Biddy had been very rude and very dis- 
 obedient, but she had seemed so pitifully small and 
 helpless in the grip of that infuriated woman. And 
 Ann knew that Vera Holmes was not merely punish- 
 ing and correcting the child; she was letting loose 
 some flood of passion within her, in those dreadful
 
 70 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 blows. The punishment had been so prodigiously in 
 excess of the crime! 
 
 How was one to try and comfort the victim of in- 
 justice, without appearing to criticize the chastening 
 hand? Ann didn't know; but the microbe in a top- 
 hat and Oxford bags and spats, and white kid gloves, 
 continued his extraordinary adventures, until Jo 
 chortled with delight and even Biddy's tear-stained 
 face twisted into the semblance of a smile. At the end 
 of the story, Jo, looking out of the window, an- 
 nounced that Alice and Connie were riding up to the 
 gate. 
 
 "I won't be nice to them," said Biddy, still defiant. 
 
 "Oh, yes you will," returned Ann, with more 
 cheerful conviction than she felt. "What about hav- 
 ing a microbe tea-party? Come along down to my 
 room, Biddy, and wash your face, and I'll give you 
 some chocolates to bring back to the schoolroom." 
 
 "What's a microbe tea-party?" demanded Jo. 
 
 Again Ann's inventiveness was called into play. 
 On the spur of the moment she had to frame rules 
 and regulations, and a complete manual of etiquette, 
 for microbes. Later, approaching the schoolroom to 
 discover how things were going, she realized that 
 there were no hostilities in progress. Harmony 
 reigned, and the party seemed to be in full swing. But 
 it was not going according to the preconceived Mer- 
 rill code. It had taken a new and original turn. Two 
 chocolate creams were on one plate, and two bits of 
 dry bread on another. 
 
 "Will you have Marblar-Marblar or Sarblar-Sar- 
 blar?" she heard Biddy asking her guests politely. 
 
 "Marblar-Marblar, please," said Alice. 
 
 The bits of dry bread were handed to the Ralstons,
 
 The Clash of Temperament 71 
 
 who obediently ate them while their hostesses de- 
 voured the chocolate creams. More chocolates, and 
 more pieces of bread were produced. 
 
 "Marblar-Marblar or Sarblar-Sarblar?" asked Jo. 
 
 "Sarblar-Sarblar," returned Connie, her eyes fixed 
 on the chocolates. 
 
 Again the dry bread was proffered. Connie looked 
 bewildered. 
 
 "I said Sarblar-Sarblar," she said. 
 
 "That's it." 
 
 "Oh! Is it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Biddy was quite gravely eating the chocolate, but 
 Jo was choking over hers in fits of unholy mirth. For 
 whether the Ralstons chose Marblar-Marblar or Sar- 
 blar-Sarblar, they always got dry bread; and being as- 
 sured that they had got what they asked for, they 
 ate it. 
 
 Ann knew that the perfect governess would inter- 
 rupt the proceedings and insist upon these imperfect 
 hostesses behaving properly; but seeing that the party 
 appeared to be progressing quite amicably, she de- 
 cided that discretion was the better part of govern- 
 ment, and returned unseen to the house. 
 
 Ann, having given the little girls their tea, was 
 sitting in her own room endeavoring to finish the 
 hat before dinner, when Vera Holmes entered. The 
 storm of passion earlier in the afternoon had evidently 
 had the effect of relieving the elder woman's nervous 
 tension. She was once more charming, gracious, and 
 looking very handsome in her vivid evening gown.
 
 72 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Satisfactory for her to find this remedy for nerves," 
 Ann reflected a trifle cynically; but hardly so pleasant 
 for the small child who had provided the outlet. Yet, 
 when Mrs. Holmes sat down beside Ann, praising her 
 skill, and thanking her for what she had done in trans- 
 forming an old hat into something which looked like 
 a Parisian model, the girl felt once more the spell of 
 her employer's fascinating personality. 
 
 "I'm very sorry I lost my temper with Biddy today," 
 said Mrs. Holmes. "But Biddy and I both suffer from 
 stormy temperaments. We have these clashes some- 
 times. I ought to have more self-control, I know. You 
 were shock,ed, weren't you?" 
 
 " 'Shocked' has a prudish sound about it. I was 
 . . . sorry too." 
 
 "For me, or for Biddy?" 
 
 Ann considered this for a moment. 
 
 "Very sorry for Biddy at first, and more sorry for 
 you afterwards." 
 
 "You thought it a dreadful exhibition?" 
 
 Ann didn't answer, and Mrs. Holmes, who had 
 been sitting in a wicker chair beside the bed, got up 
 and moved to the open window. 
 
 "It was a dreadful exhibition," she said in a low 
 tone, not looking at Ann. "I know that without being 
 told. But I want you to try and forget it. This last 
 week I've been nearly off my head with nerves. I 
 haven't slept, and I feel a wreck. I hope I don't look 
 one." 
 
 She turned, and Ann was forced to laugh. 
 
 "You know quite well that you are looking a pic- 
 ture," she said. 
 
 "That's what I came in to find out," admitted Mrs. 
 Holmes. "I'm intolerably vain but I needn't inform
 
 The Clash of Temperament 73 
 
 you of that fact. You're quite a shrewd enough little 
 monkey to have found me out already. If there's a 
 man within a mile, I always prink and preen, and 
 endeavor to look my best. And Gerald Waring's here 
 to dinner. He rang up to say he wanted to see Dick 
 about some sheep. Mutton and wool again tonight, I 
 suppose!" 
 
 She made a little grimace, then crossed over, and 
 kissing Ann lightly on the cheek, she vanished. 
 
 The kiss surprised Ann more than anything else. 
 What was she to do with such a woman? 
 
 "Should I ever really dislike her?" she wondered. 
 For she knew that Vera had succeeded in disarming 
 her. Resentment had vanished. 
 
 But Mrs. Holmes was not the only woman in the 
 house who wished to look her best at dinner that 
 night. Ann made faces at herself in the glass, and 
 told herself she was a little fool, but nevertheless she 
 donned her most becoming frock. 
 
 Well, she might have saved herself the trouble she 
 thought later, with a laugh at her own expense. Be- 
 yond a casual "How-do-you-do," Waring had not ad- 
 dressed one single remark to her. At dinner Dick 
 Holmes suggested a game of bridge; and so, as soon 
 as the children were safely in bed, Ann made her way 
 out on to the front veranda where the others were 
 sitting. But she was thinking more of Biddy now than 
 of Waring for Biddy had whispered to her as she 
 tucked her up: 
 
 "I hate Mummy, but I love you." 
 
 "Well, I certainly don't love any one who can talk 
 like that," returned Ann coldly, though perhaps not 
 quite truthfully, for she already felt a great attach- 
 ment to both these little girls.
 
 74 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "It doesn't make any difference what you feel," 
 said Biddy. "It's me that feels it. And Mummy'll hurt 
 you some day if she doesn't like you. She hurts Daddy, 
 and she hurts me." 
 
 "Now don't let me hear any more of that non- 
 sense," said Ann sternly. "I shan't stay here if you talk 
 like that." 
 
 "Would you go right away?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Back to England?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Well, I won't say it, 'cos I want you to stay." 
 
 "Biddy, it's only horrible little girls who talk about 
 their mothers like that." 
 
 "All right. I won't be horrible. Good night." 
 
 Ann left her, feeling rather appalled. She told her- 
 self that children often said foolish things of this 
 sort "hating" people who had displeased them that 
 the remarks were forgotten almost as soon as they 
 were uttered; but at the same time she experienced a 
 sense of discomfort. She must not encourage Biddy's 
 affection. It seemed disloyal to Mrs. Holmes. Yet 
 wasn't that rather hard on the child? What an annoy- 
 ing little complication. Well, never mind! It would 
 probably vanish in a day or two at most. 
 
 Twilight had fallen, but it was not yet dark. A 
 constant bleating from ewes and lambs in the pad- 
 docks near the shed filled the air. After the shearing 
 separation, mothers and their young were seeking to 
 find one another. They would probably all be identi- 
 fied correctly in a few hours no ewe would accept the
 
 The Clash of Temperament 75 
 
 wrong lamb! The crickets were busy singing their 
 night song in the garden. But there were other songs 
 being sung down at the shearers' quarters, where the 
 Maoris, gathered round the camp fire, were enter- 
 taining themselves to the accompaniment of a well- 
 played concertina. Very musical voices they had, 
 thought Ann, and wished she might go nearer to 
 hear the concert more distinctly. As if in answer to 
 this wish, Waring suddenly remarked: 
 
 "What about strolling down to listen to the Maoris 
 before we start bridge?" 
 
 "How energetic you are," said Vera. "Can't we 
 hear them plainly enough without moving?" 
 
 "Miss Merrill looks as though she wanted to go," 
 returned Waring. 
 
 "I'd love to," said Ann. 
 
 "Dick, you take Miss Merrill down, and we'll wait 
 for you here." 
 
 "I want a word with Hicky about the lorry for my 
 wool," said Waring. 
 
 "I don't think you'll find Hicky there," remarked 
 Holmes. "He's usually over at Omoana in the eve- 
 nings." 
 
 "I'll leave a message with Parone then." 
 
 Waring got up. 
 
 "I suppose you won't be happy until you've suc- 
 ceeded in dislodging us all from our comfortable 
 chairs," said Vera, rising lazily. 
 
 She made her way towards the steps, and Ann fol- 
 lowed. Vera turned. 
 
 "Aren't you coming, Dick?" she called, a faint note 
 of irritation in her voice. 
 
 "You three go on. I'll follow later. I promised to 
 say good night to the kids."
 
 76 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "You'll only disturb them come along." 
 Vera's tone was imperious, but Holmes, used to 
 this note in her voice, calmly went on filling his pipe 
 without moving. Waring had reached the steps lead- 
 ing down from the first terrace. Vera was close behind 
 him, and Ann straggled along rather undecidedly in 
 the rear. Somehow she knew that Mrs. Holmes didn't 
 want her. But could she turn back now and resume 
 her seat on the veranda beside Mr. Holmes? That 
 would look rather queer and pointed. 
 "We're waiting for you, Miss Merrill." 
 Waring's voice resolved her doubt, and she moved 
 forward. The man had opened the big gate at the 
 end of the drive, and Mrs. Holmes had already passed 
 through. As Ann came close beside him, Waring 
 whispered: "I engineered this to get a chance to speak 
 to you alone. I'll join you later." 
 
 Ann walked on. She had made no reply, and she 
 was furiously annoyed with herself because that 
 urgent whisper had had the effect of quickening the 
 beat of her heart. The impertinence of the man! To 
 ignore her publicly, and then to imagine that she 
 would jump at the chance of this clandestine flirta- 
 tion! She wouldn't! She wouldn't! But what was it he 
 wanted to say to her? Ann walked on a prey to varied 
 feelings. She knew quite well that she didn't care for 
 Waring not in the sense of affection and trust but 
 she did find his presence and this covert love-making 
 exciting. And she hated herself for finding it so. 
 
 The attraction was entirely physical, but it was 
 potent. What must she do? Ann found no answer to 
 her questions; so she walked on quietly beside Mrs. 
 Holmes until they came to the cottage, beyond which
 
 The Clash of Temperament 77 
 
 the shearers had pitched their tent. The cottage was 
 the original station homestead, and was occupied now 
 by the Pratt family, Marsh, Macdonald (the other 
 station hand), and Dan the Maori. A creeper-covered 
 veranda faced a small neglected garden full of strag- 
 gling shrubs and rose-bushes, and at the back an old 
 orchard and a patch of bush bordered the river bank. 
 Ann halted at the gate leading into the cottage. It was 
 not so much a desire to look at the place, seen dimly 
 in the twilight, as to escape from Mrs. Holmes and 
 Waring. They strolled on towards the camp fire, and 
 she remained gazing across the over-grown flower 
 beds towards the little old house. She tried to picture 
 Dick Holmes with his two brothers, and his sister 
 playing as children in this small garden, thirty years 
 ago. Nice children they must have been, she decided, 
 if they were anything like Holmes himself. But she 
 would not meet them now, for the sister had long ago 
 married and gone to live in England, and the two 
 brothers lay sleeping at Gallipoli. 
 
 A voice from the other side of the hedge made her 
 start. 
 
 "Come down to fill up the night-pen in the shed?" 
 asked Rodney Marsh, smiling at her. 
 
 He wore no hat and his dark hair was wet and 
 smoothed back from his sun-tanned face. The loose 
 white shirt, open at the neck, showed the fine column 
 of his throat, and across his shoulders dangled a col- 
 ored towel. 
 
 "You've been in the river," said Ann. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "We've got a swimming pool down at the back of 
 the house there."
 
 78 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Lucky you." 
 
 "Do you like swimming?" 
 
 "Rather!" 
 
 "You should go over to the beach then." 
 
 "Mrs. Holmes thinks it's a little too early for the 
 children to bathe yet awhile. But she's promised to 
 let me take them next week if it's warm enough." 
 
 He opened the gate, and came out to stand beside 
 her. 
 
 "Well," said Ann. "What's the job I'm to help 
 with? Filling the night-pen or something. I mean to 
 learn this sheep-farming business, you know." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "Have you got any idea what a night-pen is?" 
 
 "Not the foggiest." 
 
 "It's inside the shed. The sheep are kept in there 
 ready for the morning's shearing. If it rains, we've 
 still got a shed full to start on." 
 
 "Can't you shear them wet?" 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 "I suppose you'll put damp wool in the press when 
 you start sheep-farming." 
 
 "Not if it's wrong. I'll have learnt how to do the 
 right thing by that time. A good-natured head-shep- 
 herd will have taught me." 
 
 "He'll be a chap with a lot of time on his hands, 
 won't he?" 
 
 "Show me the night-pen." 
 
 "Sheep-farmers don't go into the shed in white 
 silk dresses," said Marsh. 
 
 "It's crepe-de-Chine and georgette," she corrected 
 him. 
 
 "How should I know what it is?"
 
 The Clash of Temperament 79 
 
 "And how should I know about night-pens and 
 damp wool and sheep?" 
 
 Marsh was looking down at her, the laughter in his 
 eyes answering the mischief in her own. 
 
 "What are you doing down here alone, anyway?" 
 
 "I'm not alone. I came with Mrs. Holmes and Mr. 
 Waring." 
 
 "Oh, Waring!" His tone of easy contempt made 
 Ann look up at him sharply. 
 
 "You don't like Mr. Waring?" 
 
 He shrugged. 
 
 "He's not my boss. We're in the polo team together. 
 Beyond that I don't bother my head about him, one 
 way or the other." 
 
 A horseman passed them, coming from the Maoris' 
 camp. He slowed up a little, peering at the two fig- 
 ures in the half-light. 
 
 "Isn't that Hicky?" 
 
 "Yes." His face had darkened. 
 
 "And you don't like Hicky, either?" 
 
 "No," he answered shortly. 
 
 The big half-caste had ridden on a little way. Now 
 he turned and came back. Close beside the gate he 
 dismounted. 
 
 "Good evening," he said to Ann, raising his hat. 
 
 Ann murmured, "Good evening," in reply, but she 
 did not at all appreciate the familiar leer with which 
 he eyed her. 
 
 Turning to Marsh he said something in Maori, and 
 Marsh, without one moment's hesitation, hit him 
 under the jaw, and knocked him down. His horse 
 pulled back, snorting, and then galloped off with 
 trailing bridle across the paddock. In a second Hicky 
 was on his feet, and the battle was joined.
 
 80 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ann had never seen two men fight before. Had 
 she been a boxing expert she would have realized that 
 here she had something worth watching. The two 
 men were equally matched, and they were both 
 skilled performers, but the science of the exhibition 
 was lost on Ann; she was merely filled with horror 
 and dismay. Not so the Maori shearers. They came 
 running from the camp fire to form a delighted ring 
 about the combatants cheering on first one, and 
 then the other! Mrs. Holmes and Waring were no- 
 where to be seen. Ann, nearly as white as her white 
 frock, hemmed in by excited Maori men and women, 
 stood an unwilling spectator of this to her appalling 
 and uncivilized conflict. 
 
 She had enough sense to realize, in spite of her in- 
 experience in such matters, that this was no ordinary 
 sparring match. It was a battle which would only end 
 with the disablement of one or other of the com- 
 batants. Already they looked horrible, their hands 
 and faces streaked with blood. This fight must be 
 stopped before murder was committed! Ann stopped 
 it. She simply sprang in between the two men during 
 one second in which they were a pace apart, and clung 
 to Rodney's hands. Hicky utterly taken aback at 
 this obstruction endeavored to pull himself up in 
 a rush forward, missed his footing and fell. In the 
 moment's respite, Ann had pushed the bewildered 
 Rodney through the gate, and closed it. She stood out- 
 side and faced Hicky, who was scrambling to his feet. 
 
 "Take yourself off this instant," she said; and then 
 turned to Marsh who was pulling at the gate. "Don't 
 you dare to move," she said fiercely. 
 
 She wheeled again towards Hicky.
 
 The Clash of Temperament 81 
 
 "Go after your horse at once! At once, do you hear 
 me?" she commanded. 
 
 Then to the Maoris: 
 
 "Back to your camp, all of you. Here's the boss 
 coming now across the paddock. He'll fetch the po- 
 lice! Quick! Before there's trouble." 
 
 They obeyed her. Hicky obeyed her. Why, she 
 never stopped to think. Perhaps the amazing spectacle 
 of this slip of a girl in her white evening frock stand- 
 ing unafraid, and passionately angry, before them all 
 was a trifle unnerving. The crowd dispersed, and she 
 was left alone with Rodney Marsh. 
 
 "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" she asked indig- 
 nantly. "Didn't you say things hadn't been too easy 
 for Mr. Holmes lately? And now you deliberately 
 make more trouble for him." 
 
 Marsh's attack had been anything but deliberate, 
 but she didn't stop to think of that, she was too in- 
 censed. 
 
 "Only this morning he was saying he hoped you 
 wouldn't be fool enough to let your private quarrels 
 interfere with his work at shearing time, and now 
 you've done it." 
 
 "You don't know what that . . . that brute said." 
 
 Marsh was mopping his battered face with a red- 
 stained handkerchief. Ann suddenly had a vision of 
 a small boy being lectured by a school ma'am, and 
 she would have been moved to laughter if she hadn't 
 felt so thoroughly infuriated. 
 
 "A silly boy! That's all you are!" she said. 
 
 "Look here," he began fiercely, and then his eyes 
 fell on the blood-stains on her frock. "Your dress is 
 ruined," he ended lamely.
 
 82 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Of course it is. And it's the only really nice eve- 
 ning frock I've got." 
 
 "I'll buy you another." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the sort. I wouldn't accept 
 one from you." 
 
 He glared at her darkly. 
 
 "Think yourself a cut above me, I suppose." 
 
 "I certainly do at the moment. If you'd cared two 
 pins for Mr. Holmes, you'd have thought of him first, 
 and not of your own silly pride." 
 
 "It wasn't pride. It was what he said about ..." 
 He stopped suddenly. 
 
 Ann, with a flash of intuition, knew that Hicky's re- 
 mark had been some reference to herself, but that this 
 young man was not going to give her the satisfaction 
 of knowing why the battle had been fought. 
 
 Looked at from this angle, the affair assumed a 
 slightly different aspect. Ann's anger against him 
 cooled. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" she asked. 
 
 "Hurt?" he echoed roughly. "It'd take more than 
 that to hurt me. And let me tell you you've done a 
 damn silly thing. We should have fought it out to 
 a finish." 
 
 "What sort of a finish?" she asked scornfully. "Un- 
 til one of you had killed the other?" 
 
 "Better that than stopping in the middle of a 
 fight." 
 
 "Listen to me," she said. "If you want to kill each 
 other, at least have the decency to wait until the shear- 
 ing's finished. You say Mr. Holmes is a white man. 
 Well, behave like a white man yourself. Promise me 
 you'll wait to settle your difference with Hicky until 
 after the shearing is finished, will you?"
 
 The Clash of Temperament 83 
 
 In her earnestness she placed her hand on his wrist. 
 Marsh stood for a moment, looking down at it. In the 
 fading light it might have been a little pale leaf 
 blown by the wind against the hard, brown forearm. 
 
 "All right," he said at last, in rather a queer tone. 
 "I promise." 
 
 "What's been the trouble, Rodney?" 
 
 Holmes was at the gate, and from the other direc- 
 tion Mrs. Holmes and Waring were approaching. 
 Ann slipped away to join them, while "the boss" in- 
 terviewed his head-shepherd. But she gave no oppor- 
 tunity to Gerald Waring for any further attempt at 
 flirtation. She reached her room, and was able to 
 change her frock without its deplorable condition 
 having been noticed. And pinned on her dressing- 
 table she found a very badly scrawled note. 
 
 "DEAR Miss MERIL," she read: 
 
 "I have draun 2 hearts, i is yours, and i is mine, 
 on mine is repintence and on yours is forgiveness, 
 that is to show I repint. Dad has tole me how to 
 spell the long words, but I did not tell him what 
 fore, plese forgive your loving friend Biddy. 
 
 "P.S. I do not feel to well to-night praps it is to 
 many chocolates I wish I had let Connie and Alice 
 eat some if I am sick in the night I hop I wone 
 disturb you." 
 
 Ann laughed as she read it, but she was, never- 
 theless, very touched. The little girls were beginning 
 to mean a great deal in her life, and somehow the 
 feeling invoked by that funny scrawl, and the draw- 
 ing of the two lop-sided hearts, had the effect for the
 
 84 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 moment at least of diminishing Waring's influence 
 over her. The children trusted her. She wanted to 
 be worth trusting. 
 
 She played bridge quite contentedly for the two 
 hours before going to bed.
 
 IV 
 
 'Daisy' 
 
 i. 
 
 ALTHOUGH Rodney Marsh apparently kept his prom- 
 ise with regard to Hicky, and Tirau "cut out" (or, in 
 other words, finished the shearing) without a hitch, 
 trouble was in store for Dick Holmes. Almost within 
 an hour after they had "cut out" at the woolshed, the 
 weather changed. A bitterly cold gale from the south 
 came up with torrents of rain. For five days it con- 
 tinued. Five disastrous days as far as the newly-shorn 
 sheep were concerned. 
 
 Holmes, Marsh, Macdonald (the second shepherd), 
 Pratt, and Dan, the Maori cow-boy, were working 
 from dawn till dark; but though through their efforts 
 they were able to effect some saving of stock, the loss 
 in sheep and lambs was very heavy. The roads for 
 a short period were almost impassable. One lorry tak- 
 ing wool bales down the coast got hopelessly bogged 
 and Holmes was unable to get the rest of the clip to 
 Wairiri in time for the November wool sales. 
 
 Though Biddy in spite of Ann's efforts to suppress 
 her had talked one morning of "the Bank" not being 
 nice to Daddy about "the mortgage," Ann thought 
 Holmes's harassed appearance might possibly be due 
 more to the strain of hard work than to financial 
 worry; for he gave no sign of any monetary embar- 
 
 85
 
 86 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 rassment, and Ann had no grounds beyond the hint 
 let fall by Rodney Marsh during the shearing for be- 
 lieving that all was not well with him and with the 
 station. 
 
 During these days of driving rain Ann and the 
 little girls had to run up to the school-room sheltered 
 under mackintoshes and umbrellas; and they sat there 
 all the morning with a blazing fire of logs roaring in 
 the open fireplace. Had it not been for the thought 
 of the poor dying stock, and the worry and monetary 
 loss for Mr. Holmes, Ann would have thoroughly en- 
 joyed this tempestuous week. They were so cozy up 
 there in the school-room during the mornings she 
 and the little girls quite happy together and in the 
 afternoons, clad in oilskins and old hats, they rode 
 out in the drenching rain either across the soaked 
 paddocks to the beach, where huge breakers came 
 thundering in upon the sand, or along the muddy 
 roads to Omoana for the mail. 
 
 Gerald Waring rode over, and spent one afternoon 
 and evening at Tirau. But there wasn't much chance 
 of bridge, for Holmes was too exhausted to remain up 
 late, and Ann escaped early with a book to her room. 
 Mrs. Holmes was no longer suffering from nerves, 
 and no one could have been sweeter or more charm- 
 ing than she was now to all the household. Ann had 
 succeeded in eluding Waring during his visit; but the 
 knowledge that he was incensed thereby did not de- 
 press her. On the contrary, reprehensible though she 
 knew the feeling to be, she found the situation excit- 
 ing, and not unpleasant. At least he should learn that 
 every woman he condescended to notice didn't re- 
 spond with alacrity to his advances. But at the same
 
 "Daisy" 87 
 
 time Ann's vanity was flattered by his badly con- 
 cealed annoyance. 
 
 The gale blew itself out, and soon afterwards spring 
 was definitely left behind and summer came with a 
 rush. The ordinary routine of station life was re- 
 sumed, polo practice re-commenced, and it seemed as 
 though the bad luck following upon the shearing was 
 forgotten. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ann and the little girls were picnicking on the 
 beach. They had started off directly after lunch, Jo 
 riding on a sheepskin strapped on to her pony's back, 
 and Ann mounted on the well-behaved station hack 
 Holmes had allotted to her. She was not yet secure 
 enough to look after anything beyond herself, so 
 Biddy carried the billy and cakes for tea in a sack a 
 pikau the Maoris called it slung across the front of 
 her saddle. They tethered the horses in the shade of 
 some karaka trees, undressed in the shelter of a little 
 patch of bush growing beside the creek, and then 
 dashed across the heavy log-strewn sand to the foam- 
 ing margin of the sea. It was a perfect afternoon. Hot 
 sunshine, blue sky and sea, white tumbling waves, and 
 gulls wheeling and crying above the headlands, and 
 the wet firm sand near the water's edge. Glorious just 
 to be alive on a day like this! The surf was not too 
 heavy; only sufficient to buffet one a little. Ann, swim- 
 ming out further than the children dared to go, could 
 keep an eye on them, and was as happy and as carefree 
 as they. Later, dressed and pleasantly tired, they boiled 
 the billy and had tea. Then the little girls, barefooted, 
 raced off to play on the beach, and Ann sat in the 
 shade, and got out the book which she had brought
 
 88 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 with her. She always provided herself with books on 
 these excursions, though she did not always open 
 them. Sometimes she played with the children enjoy- 
 ing their games almost as much as they did or lay 
 idly dreaming, looking up at the blue sky, and listen- 
 ing to the sound of the surf, and the gulls, and the 
 locusts rasping in the hot sunshine of the hillside. 
 Her thoughts traveled back to England. A lovely land, 
 but not more beautiful than the wild freedom of this 
 new country; and she felt a sense of pity for the mil- 
 lions now in the gray cities there, treading grimy 
 pavements through November fogs. Mrs. Holmes 
 might sigh for London shops. Ann felt she didn't 
 care if she never saw a shop window again! Sunshine, 
 blue seas and skies silver beaches hills that were 
 blue and mauve and purple in the distance deep 
 green of the fern-filled bush this was God's shop win- 
 dow! She could be happy here for the rest of her life. 
 
 The sound of a horse moving through the dried 
 brushwood near at hand made her look up, and she 
 saw Rodney Marsh riding towards her. She hailed 
 him cheerfully. 
 
 "Hallo. Where are you off to?" 
 
 "Just been round looking at some of the fences," 
 he answered. 
 
 "Have a cup of tea?" 
 
 "I don't mind if I do," he answered. 
 
 This was a form of reply she'd grown accustomed 
 to lately. It always amused her mildly. The obliga- 
 tion of receiving was thus in some subtle fashion 
 transmuted into a condescension of acceptance. 
 
 "I'd rather make you some fresh. It's rather stewed 
 in the billy." 
 
 "I like it stewed so long as it's hot."
 
 "Daisy" 89 
 
 He dismounted, threw his bridle reins across a 
 stump, and came towards her. Ann rose to get the 
 tea from the billy, steaming over the embers of the 
 camp fire. 
 
 He threw himself down on the fern near the spot 
 where she had been sitting, and Ann brought him the 
 tea. Again she was a little amused at his calm accept- 
 ance of her services, and at her own meekness in prof- 
 fering it. "He's a working-man and I'm what the 
 world would call a lady," she thought. "And yet here 
 I am running about waiting on him." Well, what did 
 it matter? She liked him was quite pleased to have 
 him to talk to. Why not be happy and natural, instead 
 of standing on her dignity? So having supplied him 
 with food, she sat beside him. One of his eyes was still 
 a trifle darkened from the fight, but that didn't de- 
 tract from his good looks. Why weren't all human 
 beings like this? Beautiful, with the beauty of perfect 
 form and physical fitness. It was a sheer joy just to 
 look at him. And in her mind she began to picture 
 the splendid Juno-like woman he ought to marry and 
 the beautiful strong-limbed children they would 
 have! 
 
 Over the edge of the enamel cup his eyes met hers 
 fixed upon him. 
 
 "Well?" he said. "What now?" 
 
 She laughed. "I was just wondering ..." 
 
 "Wondering what?" 
 
 "Speculating rather impertinently about your fu- 
 ture." 
 
 "What about my future? Am I going to win the 
 steeplechase at the Omoana races next month?" 
 
 "I didn't know there were to be any races. No, it 
 was something more important than that."
 
 go Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "It must have been darned important then. What 
 was it?" 
 
 "I was wondering what sort of girl you'd eventually 
 marry. She should be big and strong and handsome 
 a sort of young Diana." 
 
 "Marry!" he exclaimed contemptuously. "Do you 
 think I'd be fool enough ever to get married?" 
 
 "I don't know yet how great a fool you can be. But 
 marriage isn't foolish lots of wise people in the world 
 have married." 
 
 "That's all you women ever think about love and 
 marriage. Rot!" 
 
 "Other people men have thought love of some 
 importance, you know. Here's one who believed it to 
 be worth writing poems about." She picked up one 
 of the books. "If you could ever express in words 
 anything a hundredth part as beautiful as some of 
 these verses, I'd be proud to feel I'd known you." 
 
 "Huh! A poet! A poet isn't a man." 
 
 "You're very self -satisfied and very ignorant, you 
 know," said Ann, eyeing him dispassionately. "On 
 the whole I'm a trifle sorry for that nice, big, hand- 
 some girl you're going to marry some day." 
 
 "Don't waste your pity," he returned, unmoved. 
 "As the little boy said about the apple-corethere 
 ain't going to be no girl!" 
 
 Ann suddenly dropped her bantering tone. 
 
 "What's your objection to marriage?" she asked. 
 
 "Marriage is right enough for women." 
 
 "But not for men?" 
 
 "What does a man gain by tying himself up for 
 good and all to one woman?" 
 
 "He gains companionship." 

 
 "Daisy" 91 
 
 "I can get that without marriage. There are plenty 
 of women in the world." 
 
 Ann shot a sidelong glance at him. She had been 
 talking to him teasing him as though he were an 
 inexperienced boy. Suddenly she realized he was more 
 than that. He was a man, living the ordinary life of 
 most men. There were always Mrs. Bentleys to be 
 found by such as he. 
 
 "Why should a man deliberately walk into a cage?" 
 he went on. "What does he get out of it? The joy 
 of providing for a pack of kids, and for a woman who 
 nags at him if he doesn't always behave like a Sunday 
 school teacher. I choose to be free to live my own 
 life." 
 
 "Not like a Sunday school teacher," commented 
 Ann, drily. 
 
 "Not like a milk-and-water poet, anyhow." 
 
 "What do you know about poets?" 
 
 "Quite as much as I want to know." 
 
 "Which is just nothing." 
 
 He laughed good naturedly. 
 
 "And you know a lot, I suppose." 
 
 "Not much, but considerably more than you do, I 
 should say." 
 
 "Well, I should like to make a bet with you that 
 this chap" he picked up the book she had laid down 
 "who writes so beautifully about love, didn't know 
 the first thing about men real men and how they 
 live. He'd probably never tasted anything much 
 stronger than lemonade." 
 
 "Is that a test of manhood?" 
 
 "I wouldn't give much for a man who'd never been 
 drunk."
 
 92 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "And so you're presuming that 'this chap,' as you 
 call him, was one of the lemonade brigade." 
 "I'll bet he was." 
 
 "You've made rather a bad shot this time. The man 
 who wrote these poems happens to have died from 
 the effects of what you'd call manliness." 
 
 "Drink?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "He died when he was only forty-seven from tu- 
 berculosisbut the disease was brought on by dissipa- 
 tion." 
 
 "Is that true?" 
 
 "Quite true." 
 
 "And he wrote beautiful things?" 
 
 "Very beautiful things but he lived and died in 
 poverty and squalor a hopeless drunkard." 
 
 "All right," he said. "You've scored. Read me 
 something he wrote, and I'll tell you what I think of 
 it." 
 
 "That'll be worth hearing, won't it?" she observed 
 sarcastically. But her sarcasm left him unscathed. 
 
 "You've got to prove to me he was a poet." 
 
 "I've proved he was a man by saying he was a 
 drunkard?" 
 
 "Well, I'd rather listen to a man who'd lived hard, 
 than to a mother's darling. There read that!" 
 
 He opened the book at random, and pointed to the 
 head of the page. 
 
 "You have a very commanding way with you, 
 haven't you?" she asked, again with the little touch 
 of dryness in her voice. 
 
 "Go on," he answered. 
 
 And so Ann, with a little smile, "went on."
 
 "Daisy" 93 
 
 "It's called 'Daisy' this poem," she said. 
 
 "Where the thistle lifts a purple crown 
 
 Six feet out of the turf, 
 And the harebell shakes on the windy hill 
 O the breath of the distant surf!" 
 
 She stopped, and looked down at him. He was 
 stretched out beside her on the fern, his old hat half 
 tilted down on his face, his clear brown eyes gazing 
 out over the beach, white in the hot sun over the 
 tumbling waves, to the empty blue plain of the sea. 
 
 "That's not bad," he admitted. "Go on. Let's hear 
 what it's all about." 
 
 Ann went on. She read well, and the beauty of 
 what she read was very real to her: 
 
 "A berry red, a guileless look, 
 
 A still word strings of sand! 
 And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
 Fly down to her little hand." 
 
 There was a movement beside her, and she stopped 
 again. He was looking up at her with a little frown. 
 Something strange and intent was in his eyes. Then 
 he turned towards the sea again. 
 
 "Is that enough?" 
 
 "No, go on to the end." 
 
 Ann read on until she finished the poem, and then 
 she closed the book. 
 
 "Well," she asked mockingly, "do you pass him as 
 a poet as well as a man?" 
 
 "You've told me my opinion isn't worth anything," 
 he answered; "but that stuff isn't too bad." 
 
 Ann laughed, and he got up.
 
 94 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Well, thanks for the tea, and the lecture on 
 poetry." 
 
 "And marriage," she answered. "I'll look forward 
 to meeting Mrs. Rodney Marsh some day." 
 
 "You'll be looking forward a mighty long time 
 then" replied Marsh grimly. "Good-by." 
 
 He mounted his horse and rode off. Ann called to 
 the little girls, and they began packing up the tea- 
 things. But when they reached home, and she was 
 changing for dinner, she found that her old paper- 
 covered copy of Thompson's poems was missing. She 
 must have forgotten to put it in her pocket when 
 leaving the beach. 
 
 Well, no one ever visited the beach except them- 
 selves, and they were going down to bathe again on 
 the following day. She would find it then. Yet, though 
 she and the children searched diligently for the book 
 on their next picnic, it was nowhere to be found. 
 "I must have lost it riding home," Ann thought re- 
 gretfully, and grieved for her loss. She knew it would 
 probably be impossible to replace the book in Wairiri. 
 She had already discovered that new countries are not 
 very greatly preoccupied with poets.
 
 V 
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 
 
 i. 
 
 ANN had not expected to go to the Omoana races; for 
 although Mrs. Ralston had invited Biddy and Jo to 
 spend race day with Connie and Alice, and Ann was 
 consequently off duty, she did not imagine that the 
 governess would form one of the party setting out 
 from Tirau to the racecourse. She was not quite sure 
 whether she had to thank Vera, or Dick Holmes, for 
 the day's outing. Waring had stayed at Tirau the 
 preceding night, but he certainly would not have be- 
 stirred himself openly on her account. Whatever in- 
 terest he took in her was carefully concealed. Ann 
 was a little in the dark as to the reason for this; but 
 she shrewdly suspected that Mrs. Holmes, who ex- 
 pected the undivided allegiance of any man she fa- 
 vored with her friendship, would have resented atten- 
 tion being shown to the governess, and that Waring 
 was clever enough to avoid any chance of arousing 
 Vera's displeasure. But Ann did not trouble herself 
 to ask whom she had to thank for the invitation. She 
 took what the gods were pleased to send her, and was 
 thankful. She had never been to a race meeting in 
 her life, and now, dressed in her prettiest summer 
 frock, as she drove off from the homestead with Dick 
 Holmes, she was as happy and excited, as any healthy, 
 
 95
 
 9 6 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 pretty young creature might be, at the prospect of a 
 jolly day. 
 
 Vera had, as she put it, taken pity on Gerald's lone- 
 liness, and was driving in his car with him. 
 
 "You ought to feel very grateful," she had remarked 
 lazily at breakfast. "If I didn't come with you, you'd 
 have to get out and open every gate there are five 
 of them on the way to the course." 
 
 "I don't believe Miss Merrill would mind opening 
 the gates, would you, Miss Merrill?" asked Waring 
 casually. 
 
 "She'll have to open them for Dick," answered 
 Vera. "There'd be quite a scandal in the neighbor- 
 hood if I allowed her to drive alone with you. I 
 think it's less likely to occasion gossip if you take an 
 old married woman in your car." 
 
 And so it was settled, and Ann sat in the front seat 
 beside Dick Holmes, bumping along the somewhat 
 uneven road in the hot sunshine. She told him that 
 she had never been to a race meeting in her life, and 
 he did his best to explain the working of the totali- 
 sator to her. 
 
 "Omoana only has one meeting a year, so they get 
 in a little bit of everything. The course is under water 
 in the winter, and the going isn't too hard for the 
 steeplechase now, though it's really the flat racing 
 season." 
 
 "It's the steeplechase Rodney Marsh is riding in, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. Biddy asked me to put a shilling on Nigger 
 for her," he said. "And Jo brought me fourpence out 
 of her money-box. I told them they ought both to be 
 well spanked." 
 
 "And did you spank them?"
 
 A Race, a Dance,, a Fight 97 
 
 He smiled, and for answer pulled out of his pocket 
 a shilling and four coppers. 
 
 "I told them that they should have their first les- 
 son in gambling. That I should take their money and 
 they would never see it again." 
 
 "But suppose Nigger wins?" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "There's about as much likelihood of that as there 
 is of my old car winning a speed trial." 
 
 "But Rodney Marsh thinks he's got a chance. He 
 told me so the other day." 
 
 "Poor old Rod. He loves that horse more than 
 anything in the world, I think, and he's so proud of 
 him that he'd probably enter him for the Grand 
 National if he could afford it." 
 
 "But Nigger has won prizes, hasn't he?" 
 
 "Only for jumping. He's not a young horse. I don't 
 fancy he can gallop much and anyhow with Rod's 
 weight up he doesn't stand an earthly. This is a new 
 idea of Rodney's racing him. He's trained the horse 
 himself, and imagines Nigger's done some wonder- 
 fully fast gallops. But I think Rod's stop watch is a bit 
 erratic. Like its owner." 
 
 "Is he erratic?" 
 
 "A bit wild. But there's good solid stuff in the boy 
 if he ever settles down." 
 
 "Perhaps if he marries ..." 
 
 "Oh, Rod would fight like the devil against mar- 
 riage. And the only sort of girl who would stand a 
 chance of managing him, would be the sort of girl 
 he's never likely to meet." 
 
 "Mrs. Bentley's a widow, isn't she?" 
 
 "He'll never marry her. That's more unlikely than 
 Nigger winning the steeplechase today."
 
 98 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 A stream of traffic cars, men on horseback, a few 
 odd buggies, and Maoris from a nearby path on foot- 
 were now approaching the gate leading into the big 
 wire-fenced paddock in which lay the racecourse. A 
 rough little stand, with totalisator shed, stewards' 
 room, and saddling paddock beside it, overlooked the 
 judge's box and winning-post; but in the center of 
 the course, where all the cars and other vehicles were 
 parked, rushes and briars grew, and coarse tussocky 
 grass. 
 
 Holmes drew up amongst the other cars; and with- 
 in a few minutes Waring and Vera joined them. The 
 Staffords, Ralstons and many of those who attended 
 the polo practice matches had already arrived, so 
 that Ann and Vera were soon members of a large 
 group, all extremely well-known to one another. It 
 was quite like a family party of forty or fifty, and Ann 
 was one of the few who was not addressed by her 
 baptismal name. It was all very friendly and jolly, 
 she thought. The sun shone, the larks sang over the 
 green hills, pink flowering briars nodded in the warm 
 wind, and the gay colors of the jockeys, the crude, 
 vivid dresses of the Maori women, and the smarter 
 attire and bright parasols of the sheep-farmers' wives, 
 made a moving kaleidoscope of color. The women 
 were "making-up" tickets for the totalisator only a 
 few were bold enough to invest the full amount of 
 one pound. For the most part they betted in five- 
 shilling or half-crown shares. Ann had half a crown 
 on the first race, and lost. But it made the race more 
 exciting to have a monetary interest in it. After that 
 they had lunch, every one bringing sandwiches, cake, 
 fruit, and drinkables from the cars and pooling them.
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 99 
 
 And at a little distance, over a camp fire, the inevi- 
 table billy boiled for tea. 
 
 "Enjoying it?" asked Vera, carelessly, when she 
 helped herself to a sandwich from a basket Ann 
 passed to her. 
 
 "Loving it! It was sweet of you to bring me," an- 
 swered Ann quite truthfully. 
 
 Vera smiled at her. She was in one of her best 
 moods today and looking her best, too wearing a 
 smart frock, and one of the chic little hats which Ann 
 had made for her. 
 
 "Harry Kent appears to think it sweet of me also," 
 observed Vera. "Oh, here he is again," she added 
 under her breath. "He doesn't leave you for long 
 alone." 
 
 "You coming to the dance tonight, Miss Merrill?" 
 asked Kent at this moment. 
 
 "What dance?" 
 
 "We're getting up a dance at the Omoana Hall 
 tonight. You and Dick are coming, aren't you, Mrs. 
 Holmes?" 
 
 "I believe so," answered Vera. 
 
 "And Miss Merrill?" 
 
 "Mrs. Pratt and Emily can sleep up at the house 
 tonight," put in Holmes. "No need for you to stay at 
 home for that. What about you, Gerald?" 
 
 "I've got to get back to Kopu tonight." 
 
 "Go back after the dance." 
 
 "Yes, I could do that." 
 
 No more was said about the dance, and Ann did 
 not refer to it again. After this clay's holiday she 
 hardly expected to be allowed to attend the dance as 
 well. After all, she wasn't a guest staying with the 
 Holmes's. She was merely the governess. Though Vera
 
 ioo Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Holmes kept her busily employed in many different 
 ways in the house, and she had very little time she 
 could really call her own, she had up till now been 
 included in almost every small festivity. She couldn't 
 expect to be taken everywhere. And it was enough 
 for her to know that she was enjoying every minute 
 of this bright day. 
 
 It was just before the horses were taken into the 
 saddling paddock for the steeplechase, that she met 
 Rodney Marsh. Kent had been called away by some 
 man, and Ann stood for a few minutes alone near 
 the totalisator. 
 
 "Going to have a ticket on Nigger?" he asked. 
 
 "They all say he hasn't any chance." 
 
 "Who's 'they'?" he inquired contemptuously. "I 
 say he can win. I ought to know." 
 
 Ann suddenly made up her mind. She pulled out 
 two pound notes and stuffed them into his hand. 
 
 "Get me two tickets," she said quickly. 
 
 He grinned at her. 
 
 "You're a sport!" he remarked. "Nigger won't let 
 you down." 
 
 "He did once," she answered promptly. 
 
 Marsh laughed. 
 
 "Well, he won't this time, anyhow." 
 
 He dashed off to get the tickets. Ann heard the 
 ring of the totalisator bell as he put the money on, 
 and in a moment he was beside her again, and pushed 
 the tickets into her hand. 
 
 "By the way, I've got something belonging to you 
 at home. I meant to return it before now." 
 
 "Something of mine?" 
 
 "That poet chap's book. I borrowed it the other 
 day cheek, wasn't it?"
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 101 
 
 Ann laughed. She couldn't be angry with him, and 
 she was glad to know her little book of poems wasn't 
 lost. 
 
 "Why didn't you ask me to lend it to you?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "You'd have thought you'd converted me," he an- 
 swered, grinning. 
 
 "Did you read it?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "And did you like it?" 
 
 "Some of it. I liked bits of that 'Hound of Heaven' 
 thing some of it sounded like a horse galloping. A 
 sort of swinging sound in it. Of course he puts in a lot 
 of long words that don't mean much. Still, I guess 
 you were right. I expect he's a poet. I must be off." 
 
 "Good luck," said Ann. "Don't forget I've got two 
 tickets on your horse." 
 
 "Well, you'll get a straight run for your money, 
 anyhow. I've just put twenty pounds on the tote 
 myself." 
 
 He moved swiftly away towards the saddling pad- 
 dock, and a few minutes later he was cantering down 
 the straight on Nigger. 
 
 Ann told no one she had backed Nigger. That was 
 her little secret hers and Rodney's. Why was she 
 glad to share this with him? And why glad that he 
 had impertinently stolen her book? She didn't know; 
 but it seemed to establish some small bond of friend- 
 ship between them. Of course he wouldn't win! 
 Everybody said he hadn't a chance. Nevertheless, Ann 
 felt no regret for the loss of her two pounds. She 
 and Kent joined the others in the stand to watch the 
 race. There were seven horses running, and some of 
 them gave a little trouble at the starting-post.
 
 102 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "They're off!" 
 
 Nigger had got away well, and was lying third. The 
 two first horses made the running, but Nigger was 
 jumping faultlessly and going strongly not gaining 
 on the leaders, but keeping his place. All safely over 
 the first three fences! But at the fourth, one horse 
 fell, and another challenged Nigger and took third 
 place. "He's beaten!" thought Ann, for when they 
 passed the stand the first time Marsh was last. But 
 there wasn't much gap between the horses, and at the 
 sod wall another fell. Ann had her heart in her mouth 
 at each mishap, but the jockeys rose again in a sec- 
 ond, and apparently no damage was done to either 
 horses or riders. At the back of the course Nigger 
 moved up. He was third again now he was second. 
 
 "By Jove! Nigger's got a chance if he can stay the 
 distance," said Holmes. 
 
 Ann's little figure was tense with excitement. Could 
 he win? How wonderful if he could win! She hadn't 
 given a thought to the money she'd invested. She 
 only longed for Rodney Marsh to prove himself right 
 to triumph. They were facing the last fence now, 
 and the race resolved itself into a contest between 
 Marsh and the leading jockey. Both over! But alas, 
 the other horse gained at the jump. He flew his 
 fences with scarcely an inch to spare. Nigger jumped 
 bigger. Marsh's opponent led by a length and a half 
 as they entered the straight. But foot by foot Nigger 
 came up he had decreased the lead by a length 
 now he was drawing level, and now neck and neck 
 they raced. Yells from the stand Ann joining in the 
 yelling! He was winning Rodney was winning! He'd 
 won!
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 103 
 
 Ann sat down suddenly in a little huddled heap. 
 Then all at once she remembered her tickets. 
 
 "I believe I've won something," she remarked. 
 
 "Did you back Nigger?" asked Vera Holmes curi- 
 ously. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He was the first horse I was ever on. Riding, I 
 mean." 
 
 "Good for you!" said Kent. "He'll pay a thumping 
 dividend about sixteen pounds, I should think." 
 
 Ann made a hurried calculation. Twenty times six- 
 teen. Over three hundred pounds! The stakes were 
 fifty. Rodney Marsh would be richer by nearly four 
 hundred pounds! A little fortune, so it seemed to 
 Ann. 
 
 "How much did you have on?" asked Vera. 
 
 "Twenty pounds," said Ann. 
 
 "Twenty pounds!" shrieked Vera. 
 
 "No! No! I mean I suppose I'll win that," said 
 Ann. "I had two tickets." 
 
 To her surprise she knew that she was blushing, but 
 that was the excitement. 
 
 "More like thirty pounds, if you've got two tickets," 
 said Kent. 
 
 "You little plunger!" said Vera. 
 
 Ann wanted to rush down to the paddcok to con- 
 gratulate Rodney, but she couldn't leave her own 
 party to do that; and after all he wouldn't miss her 
 congratulations. He had his own friends any num- 
 ber of them, crowding round him. Mrs. Bentley was 
 down there, shaking him by both hands. Ann saw the 
 handsome, laughing face turned towards the woman 
 from Omoana.
 
 104 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 For no reason at all Ann suddenly hated Mrs. 
 Bentley. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ann went to the dance. Again, she was not quite 
 sure whom she had to thank for this further festivity. 
 A queer little suspicion which she instantly dismissed 
 as disloyal and absurd had occurred to her. Did Mrs. 
 Holmes raise no objection to the arrangement because 
 Ann took Dick Holmes off her hands, and allowed 
 her Vera to devote herself to Waring? Ridiculous! 
 Waring and Mrs. Holmes were just old friends, 
 and nothing more. Vera loved admiration from any 
 man, and she looked upon Gerald as her own especial 
 property. She teased him openly about his flirtations; 
 told him frankly that no woman with any sense 
 would ever take him seriously; but admitted that his 
 conversation amused her when he could manage to 
 get away for a few minutes from the everlasting 
 and enthralling subject of sheep. 
 
 Surely that wasn't the manner of a woman carrying 
 on any underhand flirtation? And Waring was Dick 
 Holmes's best friend. 
 
 Ann scolded herself for the fleeting moment of dis- 
 trust. 
 
 In spite of the excitement of stuffing thirty-five dirty 
 pound notes, and some odd silver, into her bag after 
 Nigger's sensational win, Ann had found the rest 
 of the afternoon at the races a little flat, and she made 
 up her mind that she would enjoy every moment of 
 the dance. 
 
 She had not seen Marsh after the race. Driving 
 with Holmes into Omoana after dinner, she learnt
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 105 
 
 that the head-shepherd had won just over four hun- 
 dred pounds. 
 
 "I'm afraid the young fool will be sitting up till 
 all hours gambling at Omoana tonight. Mrs. Bentley 
 plays a pretty stiff game of poker, I believe. Well, I 
 hope he'll have something beyond a bad head to 
 remind him of his win in the morning." 
 
 So that was where Rodney Marsh would be this 
 evening! Gambling with Mrs. Bentley and a few 
 choice spirits at the "pub," while Ann herself was 
 dancing at the Omoana Hall only a few yards or so 
 away! 
 
 "Well, what does it matter to me?" she asked her- 
 self impatiently. "I know that such things happen. 
 That's his idea of life and happiness. We're not all 
 built alike." But she was conscious of a small sharp 
 stab of regret. He was so strong, so fearless, and so 
 handsome. Surely too fine a man to waste his glowing 
 youth in such a futile way. And though she enjoyed 
 the dance, the thought of Rodney lay on her mind 
 like a little shadow which might rise at any moment 
 to dim her pleasure. 
 
 Vera again occupied a seat in Waring's car on the 
 drive in to Omoana "to open gates for him" but 
 as he was going on to Kopu after the dance, she 
 would be returning home with her husband and Ann. 
 
 Apparently the dance was a community affair, the 
 men having hired the hall and provided the pianist 
 a half-caste Maori woman who usually played for "the 
 pictures" and the women having brought the sup- 
 per of sandwiches, cake and fruit. 
 
 Ann, like all the other girls and young married 
 women, suffered from no. lack of partners. There were 
 at least a dozen men too many. Though programs
 
 io6 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 were not provided, Ann had only one dance un- 
 booked when Waring came across the room to her. 
 
 "You're a most elusive little devil," he remarked 
 in his casual drawl. "Why do you keep out of my 
 way whenever I visit Tirau?" 
 
 "You apparently don't notice my presence at meal- 
 times." 
 
 "Annoyed?" he asked. 
 
 She laughed at him quite frankly. 
 
 "Not a bit. Only you can't have it both ways, you 
 know. You can't ignore me in public and expect me 
 to be overjoyed by your desire to waylay me in pri- 
 vate." 
 
 "I have my reasons." 
 
 "I've no doubt you have." 
 
 "I'll tell you them one of these days." 
 
 "They don't interest me." 
 
 "Quite sure you're speaking the truth?" 
 
 She laughed again. 
 
 "If it pleases your vanity to believe I'm not ..." 
 
 "It does. You're going to dance with me?" 
 
 "Of course why not? The tenth?" 
 
 "That'll be about supper time. You'll keep that 
 for me?" 
 
 "Certainly. If I can remember it and you don't 
 forget." 
 
 "Not much chance of my forgetting it." 
 
 But again Ann knew, in spite of the smiling in- 
 difference of her manner, that she wasn't altogether 
 displeased by the knowledge that she was a good deal 
 in his thoughts. During the intervals of the dances 
 many couples left the hall, strolling outside in the 
 warm moonlight. Ann had determined she would not 
 do this with Waring. And yet, just as her dance with
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 107 
 
 him came to an end, she changed her mind. A man 
 passing her remarked laughingly to a friend: "A 
 rough house down the road at Bentley's." 
 
 Was Rodney Marsh there? Suddenly Ann deter- 
 mined that she would stroll with Waring past the 
 hotel, towards the sea. 
 
 She made no objection to his suggestion that they 
 should go out. At the hotel the light from the open 
 windows was streaming across the sandy road. A 
 gramophone was going, and a rival dance was in 
 progress. Maori men and women, hands from the 
 dairy factory, and others were fox-trotting noisily on 
 the veranda. But within a room to the right of the 
 hall a few loungers stood looking down at the center 
 table, where Mrs. Bentley, a woman friend, Jack 
 Smith, Marsh and another man sat playing cards. 
 There were little piles of notes upon the table and 
 half-emptied glasses. The hanging lamp was above 
 the players, and Ann saw clearly Rodney's flushed 
 face, his rumpled hair, and his strong brown fore- 
 arms below the rolled-up shirt sleeves. Again she was 
 conscious of some feeling she could not clearly define. 
 There was regret in it, but there was resentment too. 
 Why should she feel this? What did it matter to her 
 how Rodney Marsh employed his leisure? She dis- 
 missed all thought of him or imagined she did 
 and walked on with Waring towards the sandhills, her 
 heart filled with an angry recklessness. "Eat, drink 
 and be merry, for tomorrow you die!" That seemed 
 to be the motto of men like Marsh! Well, she her- 
 self would try it for a change! And so, when they 
 came to the shadow of an old willow tree growing 
 beyond the hotel, and Waring took her in his arms, 
 she did not resist. He held her close, kissing her
 
 io8 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 passionately on mouth and eyes and throat. The 
 warm wind stirred the leafy branches of the willow 
 overhead. The moonlight lay white on the sandhills; 
 above the dull, incessant roaring of the surf, sounded 
 the music of the gramophone from Bentley's and 
 with that thin stream of melody came back the mem- 
 ory of Rodney Marsh. Not Marsh as Ann had seen 
 him tonight, but Marsh walking beside her in the 
 spring sunshine as she sat perched up in his saddle, 
 riding Nigger; Marsh chaffing her as she drove the 
 sheep into the race at the yards; Marsh listening to 
 her as she read "Daisy" on the hillside overlooking 
 the sea. And suddenly Ann saw very clearly that dis- 
 aster had come upon her. She didn't want to share her 
 life with honest Bob Greenaway, whom she would 
 always trust and respect as a dear friend, but whose 
 kiss had no power to stir her heart to a quicker beat; 
 nor did she desire to take as a life partner Gerald 
 Waring, whom she neither trusted nor respected, but 
 whose kisses now had set her pulses racing furiously. 
 There was another man a man indifferent to her 
 and one with whom, in any case, marriage would be 
 impossible. One married into one's own class, not be- 
 neath it. 
 
 She disengaged herself from Waring's close embrace 
 and moved out of the shadow. Other strolling dancers 
 might see them now, and Waring would not dare to 
 kiss her again. She knew that she was shaken, but 
 she had sense enough to assume a calmness she was 
 far from feeling. 
 
 "I don't think we'll repeat that . . . that experi- 
 ment," she said. 
 
 Waring was standing close to her. 
 
 "Was that all it was to you?" he asked.
 
 A Race, a Dance, a Fight 109 
 
 For the first time Ann heard his voice husky and 
 uneven. 
 
 "Of course," she answered. "I oughtn't to have 
 allowed it, I know. But it seemed easier than an un- 
 dignified scuffle." 
 
 "It meant . . . nothing to you, then?" 
 
 "Quite as little as it meant to you." 
 
 "By God, if it meant as much ..." He broke off, 
 and Ann moved a step or two towards the hotel. She 
 would never risk being alone with him again, she 
 decided. He walked beside her in silence, his face 
 looking rather white and strained in the moonlight. 
 
 They were abreast of the hotel, when out of the 
 doors, and across the veranda into the moonlight road- 
 way, surged a crowd of shouting, gesticulating men 
 and women. A fight was in progress. Again Ann knew 
 a moment of bitter heart-sickness, for she saw that the 
 two sparring and hitting furiously were Rodney 
 Marsh and Hicky, the big half-caste. Was this the man 
 she thought of more than all the others? This 
 drunken, dishevelled shepherd? She stood quite still, 
 unnoticed amongst the excited crowd. Waring was 
 touching her arm. 
 
 "Come away," he said, "this is no place for you." 
 
 "Go back to the hall if you want to," she said 
 sharply, "and leave me." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense." 
 
 The fight went on. No one interfered with the two 
 men. At last, with one terrific blow, Marsh felled his 
 opponent. The crowd gathered round the fallen man, 
 and Ann knew that she was separated from Waring, 
 and standing close beside the victor. 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 "Rodney, will you go home . . . now?" she said.
 
 no Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 He looked down at her, dazed and bewildered. His 
 breath was coming in great shuddering gasps. 
 
 "What are you . . . doing . . . here?" 
 
 "We're at the hall. Promise me you won't fight 
 again that you'll go home. Promise me." Her voice 
 was urgent. 
 
 "All right," he answered thickly. "If Hicky isn't 
 badly damaged I'll go." 
 
 The injured man had risen. He was dazed, but 
 apparently uninjured. Waring again was at Ann's 
 side. 
 
 "Is he hurt?" she asked. 
 
 "No, only knocked out. But he's taken all the pun- 
 ishment he wants for the moment come away." 
 
 Ann moved back to the hall beside him. 
 
 Later, driving back to Tirau, she heard Vera and 
 Holmes in the front seat discussing the encounter. 
 
 "It's lucky for Marsh that the constable didn't take 
 him in charge this evening," said Vera. 
 
 "Shaw very wisely goes to bed early on race night," 
 replied Holmes drily. 
 
 "I suppose that idiotic youth has lost most of the 
 money he won today." 
 
 "About a hundred of it, I believe." 
 
 "He'll have lost it all before breakfast-time." 
 
 "I don't think so. He went home directly after 
 the fight." 
 
 He'd kept his promise, then! Ann's sore heart knew 
 a little healing.
 
 VI 
 
 The Accident and After 
 
 i. 
 
 FOR the next fortnight, Ann saw neither Rodney 
 Marsh nor Gerald Waring, except in the presence of 
 others. She had determined that she would do her 
 best never to speak to either of them alone again. 
 She devoted herself to the little girls; did all the odd 
 jobs she could find to do for Mrs. Holmes; and in her 
 spare moments which were very few tried to read 
 solid improving literature. Romantic fiction and 
 poems concerning love she resolutely barred. She was 
 determined to occupy her mind with thoughts which 
 had very little connection with sentiment. But alas, 
 she was young, and ardent, and all nature, all the 
 glamor of the warm bright days, and the freshness 
 and novelty of this new life, seemed to tempt her to 
 dream of some indefinite but blissful future. What 
 was the sense of indulging in these dreams, she asked 
 herself disgustedly. 
 
 She would not dignify by the name of love the feel- 
 ing she knew now that she entertained for Rodney 
 Marsh. She told herself that it was a stupid infatua- 
 tion, born of his good looks, and his attractive person- 
 ality. The attachment of a sentimental schoolgirl for 
 a romantic-looking music master! 
 
 As for the disturbing influence of Gerald Waring,
 
 112 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 she recognized it honestly for what it was something 
 entirely physical, springing from sex interest, with- 
 out affection or regard. That certainly wasn't love, 
 though she shrewdly suspected it was what hurried 
 many young couples into wedlock, often with the 
 most disastrous results. No, she wasn't likely to marry 
 Gerald Waring, even if he lost his head completely 
 enough to want her to do so. 
 
 But if Rodney Marsh were to ask her to be his 
 wife? She turned away from this question when it 
 presented itself to her. Sometimes she saw herself set- 
 tled in the homestead of a little farm, an ideally 
 happy wife. That was one picture. Was it a true 
 one? Wasn't there one more real and by no means so 
 pleasant? A girl accustomed to a certain standard of 
 living of culture married to a half-educated work- 
 ing man; entertaining his friends the blacksmith and 
 the plowboy, and the riff-raff from the "pub"? 
 
 Why see these pictures at all? Rodney had no more 
 thought of her as a wife than he had of Emily Pratt, 
 the little housemaid. Less, perhaps; for all she knew 
 he might have found Emily quite attractive. Was 
 Rodney right? Were women's thoughts almost exclu- 
 sively occupied with love and marriage? Certainly 
 not! Ann, with a sudden fierceness, attacked the hats 
 she was trimming for the little girls, stabbing them 
 with pins. 
 
 2. 
 
 The Coast Team for the polo tournament, held at 
 Wairiri in Christmas week, had now been chosen: 
 Holmes, Waring, Marsh, and Kent, with Ralston as 
 emergency man. 
 
 Rodney, accompanied by two grooms, was to make
 
 The Accident and After 113 
 
 a start for Wairiri with the ponies on Christmas Eve; 
 while Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and Waring, planned to 
 leave Tirau on Boxing Day. They would all be away 
 until after the New Year, and during their absence 
 the Pratt family were to sleep up at the house, so 
 that Ann and the children should not be quite alone. 
 
 A short time before Christmas some cattle from the 
 back of the run were mustered, in order to brand and 
 mark the calves. The greater part of the branding 
 had been done after the shearing. These cows were a 
 small wild mob from the bush country. 
 
 Holmes and the men on the place had been kept 
 hard at work sowing rape, picking fat lambs for the 
 Freezing Works, shearing the others, and weaning; 
 now, until the second week in January, when dipping 
 and culling began, there would be a lull in the sta- 
 tion work. 
 
 The barking of dogs, the cracking of stock-whips, 
 the galloping thud of the horses' hoofs, as the men 
 drafted the bellowing cattle in the paddocks down 
 near the yards, fascinated Ann. This was more ex r 
 citing to watch than polo, and it called for equally 
 good if not better horsemanship. 
 
 Rodney was not riding Nigger. Since this animal 
 had proved himself a steeplechase winner, Marsh used 
 another hack for station work. Holmes chaffed the 
 young shepherd about it. Asked him if he were con- 
 templating giving up his job, and taking to racing. 
 Rodney smiled good-humoredly, but kept his inten- 
 tions to himself. 
 
 Today the horse he rode was not as clever, nor as 
 experienced as Nigger at cutting out cattle, so that 
 Marsh was having harder work than usual. 
 
 Ann, busy in the school-room setting copies and
 
 ii4 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 little sums, had promised the children they should 
 go down to join their father at the woolshed for a 
 few minutes before lunch. She did not add that she 
 herself was just as anxious to view the proceedings 
 at close quarters as they were. Was it the prospect 
 of a chance word with Rodney Marsh that drew her 
 towards the yards? She wouldn't answer that question. 
 
 But running down the hillside in the sunshine with 
 the little girls, Mrs. Holmes's voice from the veranda 
 called to her. Ann halted, and Biddy and Jo went 
 on. Mrs. Holmes wanted her for some reason to come 
 back to the house. 
 
 "I don't like leaving the children," she shouted in 
 reply. 
 
 "They're all right," called Mrs. Holmes. 
 
 But they were not all right. 
 
 Deciding to take a short cut to the woolshed, they 
 had already climbed through the wire fence into the 
 paddock from which the cattle had been driven into 
 the yards. 
 
 Ann shrieked to them to come back, for she saw 
 what they apparently did not, that the bellowing 
 cows were now returning; but they either did not, or 
 would not, hear. 
 
 Disregarding Vera's calls, Ann fled down the hill in 
 pursuit of her charges. She scrambled through the 
 wire fence and raced after them. Heavens! The mob 
 were now pouring out from the yards into the open, 
 and charging in a blind rush, straight down towards 
 the children. 
 
 Suddenly Biddy and Jo, realizing their danger, 
 turned and tore back to the fence as fast as their short 
 little legs could carry them. But what chance would 
 they have of evading destruction? None! Unless the
 
 The Accident and After 115 
 
 advancing flood of red and white horned beasts could 
 be stemmed or diverted. Ann, standing facing the 
 on-coming rush, snatched off her broad-brimmed hat 
 and stood waving it frantically, and shrieking at the 
 top of her voice. Canute as successfully commanded 
 the tides! 
 
 The herd came thundering on. But just as she 
 had given up all hope, she was aware of a chorus of 
 barking dogs, and the sound of galloping hoofs. 
 Marsh, racing down on the inside of the fence, headed 
 off the mob, who in a few seconds were stampeding 
 out towards the open paddock, leaving Ann and the 
 little girls safe and unharmed. Rodney Marsh, how- 
 ever, was not so fortunate. Swinging round sharply 
 to avoid a charging beast, his horse came crashing to 
 the ground. He was in no danger now from the cattle, 
 for they had passed on, but when his horse rose, Ann 
 saw that he still remained lying where he had fallen. 
 She rushed across to the spot where he lay, but before 
 she reached him he was sitting up, and Dick Holmes 
 was galloping towards them. 
 
 "Hurt, Rod?" he called. 
 
 Marsh, looking rather white, tried to get on to his 
 feet, and then sank back again. 
 
 "The old knee gone again, I think," he announced 
 laconically. 
 
 Holmes and Ann were standing beside him. 
 
 "Don't move then," said Holmes. 
 
 "If I'd been riding Nigger, this wouldn't have hap- 
 pened." Marsh's voice expressed disgust. "It's good- 
 bye to the polo tournament for me now." 
 
 "Perhaps it isn't as bad as you think." 
 
 "Bad enough. The knee's gone all right." 
 
 "Keep still then. We'll carry you in. Miss Merrill,
 
 n6 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 will you run up to the house and telephone to Omo- 
 ana for Doctor Spencer?" 
 
 Ann sped away towards the house. She knew that 
 if Holmes had not arrived when he did, she would 
 have put her arms around Rodney, or made some 
 other equally ridiculous gesture of consolation. She 
 had been prevented from making a fool of herself; 
 but, as it was, she hadn't uttered one word of thanks 
 to Rodney Marsh for thus saving her a second time 
 from sudden death. 
 
 3- 
 
 The head-shepherd was right. 
 
 When the polo team departed for Wairiri, he was 
 left lying in the cottage, with his knee in splints. The 
 injury proved to be severe synovitis, and Dr. Spencer 
 refused to allow the patient to move out of bed for 
 the first ten days at least. Ann sent messages to the 
 young man by Dick Holmes, but did not attempt 
 to see him. He suffered from no lack of visitors how- 
 ever. Jack Smith motored over from Omoana to see 
 him, and there were many other callers. But on 
 Boxing Day he was to be alone. A race meeting fur- 
 ther up the coast claimed the attention of most of 
 the residents of Omoana; and before Dick Holmes 
 departed with Vera and Waring for Wairiri, he asked 
 Ann to visit the solitary invalid. 
 
 "I'm sure he'd like to see you," he said. "And it's 
 rotten bad luck for him, knowing we've all gone off 
 to the tournament. He's very keen on polo. Try and 
 cheer him up a bit." 
 
 Ann was free, for the little girls had gone over to 
 play with Alice and Connie Ralston, and about three
 
 The Accident and After 117 
 
 o'clock she decided she would walk across the paddock 
 to the cottage. 
 
 Rodney's bed was drawn close to the open window 
 of one of the front rooms, looking out on to the 
 veranda, and through the curtain of creepers he saw 
 Ann as she came up from the gate, across the neg- 
 lected, overgrown garden. 
 
 "Hospital visiting?" he asked, as she hesitated on 
 the doorstep. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, smiling at him. "May I come 
 in?" 
 
 "Of course. You've been a long time making up 
 your mind to call and inquire after my health." 
 
 "I did inquire." 
 
 "I don't count messages. I like personal inquiries." 
 
 "You've had so many visitors, I didn't think you'd 
 want to see me." 
 
 She entered the little passage, and turned in at the 
 open door. 
 
 "I want to see everybody," he returned. "What's 
 the good of being on the sick-list if you don't get a 
 little attention?" 
 
 "You've had too much, that's quite evident. You're 
 thoroughly spoilt." 
 
 "Not nearly spoilt enough," he returned. "Can 
 you find a chair somewhere?" 
 
 She knew that missing the tournament had been a 
 very great disappointment to him, and that this 
 period of enforced rest must be galling to any one of 
 such an active temperament. He was not whining over 
 it however. With a warm little glow at her heart she 
 realized that she had not been mistaken in her esti- 
 mate of him. He had the best sort of courage. He 
 wouldn't admit defeat.
 
 n8 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "You know, I've never thanked you for saving my 
 life the other day." 
 
 "I didn't do anything. Just turned those darned 
 cows that's all." 
 
 "Well, if you hadn't, where should I have been?" 
 
 He shrugged his big shoulders, propped up against 
 the pillows. 
 
 "Can't tell you that. But there's one thing I will 
 tell you." He turned and looked at her steadily. 
 "You're a damned good plucked 'un. You were doing 
 your best to save the kids." 
 
 She blushed, and felt angry with herself for 
 blushing. 
 
 "One does things like that without thinking. 
 They're not brave really." 
 
 "If a man or a woman isn't plucky, they do stop 
 to think," he remarked shrewdly. "I've often seen 'em 
 thinking." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "I'm horribly afraid of lots of things." 
 
 "What sort of things?" 
 
 "Oh, frogs, and cows, and geese, and mice, and 
 spiders. And in the dark I'm often scared. One night 
 I met Mrs. Holmes walking in her sleep. I was terri- 
 fied!" 
 
 "Walking in her sleep!" 
 
 He merely repeated her phrase, and yet the sound 
 had something in it, which gave her a sensation of 
 discomfort. What underlay his tone? Contempt? It 
 wasn't definite enough for that, and yet it seemed to 
 wake in her a vague impalpable suspicion forgotten 
 now for weeks. There was a question she had never 
 asked. What was it? Ah, now she had it. Why did 
 Mrs. Holmes say that night, "It's just after two, isn't
 
 The Accident and After 119 
 
 it?" How, if she were really sleeping, did she guess the 
 time? Ann didn't like that question didn't want to 
 think Mrs. Holmes was acting. What motive would 
 she have for such a foolish deception? And she wasn't 
 acting when she wept and shivered. Her tears were 
 real enough. Ann pushed aside all thought of Mrs. 
 Holmes. At any rate she had no intention of discuss- 
 ing her employer with any one. 
 
 "Can you keep a secret?" asked Marsh suddenly. 
 
 Ann turned in quick alarm. 
 
 "I don't like secrets," she answered. "Especially if 
 they concern other people." 
 
 "This only concerns me." 
 
 Ann drew a breath of relief. 
 
 "Yes, I could keep that," she answered. 
 
 "Me and Nigger," he went on. 
 
 "Tell me." Ann's eyes were bright with interest. 
 "I never thanked you for winning that money for 
 me." 
 
 He grinned. 
 
 "What did you do with it?" 
 
 "I've got it at home. It ought to be in the Savings 
 Bank. How much did you lose of yours?" 
 
 "Only about a quarter of it. The rest's safe for 
 the present." He was still smiling at her. "But I'm 
 doing it in on Nigger." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Swear you won't give me away? I haven't told 
 any one yet." 
 
 "Not even Mrs. Bentley?" said Ann. 
 
 The words seemed to have spoken themselves with- 
 out her volition. How gauche, how outrageous of her 
 to have made that remark!
 
 120 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "I've never talked to her like I talk to you," replied 
 Marsh shortly. 
 
 Ann was silent. She began to think that by her un- 
 fortunate observation she had lost the precious secret, 
 and she was tremendously anxious to hear it. Some- 
 thing to do with racing it must be. Ann had been 
 thrilled by the steeplechase. Any further racing news 
 was of great importance. 
 
 "Nigger's to race in Wairiri in the autumn. A 
 trainer I know is going in with me, and we're enter- 
 ing him for the Grand National," said Marsh impres- 
 sively. "And what's more he's going to win it." 
 
 The Grand National! That was the great race Dick 
 Holmes had mentioned, when laughing at Nigger's 
 chances at Omoana. Well, if Rodney thought his 
 horse could win, he'd probably do so. Rodney had 
 been right at Omoana. He'd prove himself right 
 again. Ann had perfect faith in him. 
 
 "Every body '11 call me no end of a fool," said Rod- 
 ney. "They'll talk about his age say he'll crack up 
 in training. But I know what the horse can do. They 
 said he won the steeplechase by a fluke, and because 
 he had nothing good against him. I know better. He 
 was winning all the way. I could have won by fifteen 
 lengths if I'd wanted to." 
 
 Ann accepted all this. To her it wasn't boasting. 
 It was a plain statement of fact. Rodney knew about 
 such things. She felt enormously flattered that he 
 should trust her with this secret. 
 
 "I shall put ten pounds on him," she announced. 
 
 Rodney laughed. 
 
 "You're a real good sport. I knew you were when 
 you backed him at Omoana." 
 
 They talked on for some time quite contentedly.
 
 The Accident and After 121 
 
 Marsh proceeded to tell her Nigger's history as far 
 as he knew it; of how the horse had originally become 
 his property. 
 
 "I don't know where he was bred, but a drover 
 named Healey a rotten brute with horses owned him 
 five years ago. I bought him because I felt sorry for 
 the poor beast. He was sound enough, but he'd been 
 ridden with a back that was in a hell of a mess, and 
 he was just a bag of bones. Healey was very fond of 
 knocking him over the head, so I knocked Healey 
 over the head one day to show him what it felt like. 
 We had a ding-dong go, but afterwards he sold me 
 the horse. I doctored him up a bit, and then turned 
 him out for a spell, and he came on wonderfully. The 
 finest bargain I ever made. I wouldn't part with him 
 now for anything any one could give me he's the best 
 friend I've got." 
 
 Ann promised to come again next day, and to bring 
 him some books to read. 
 
 "No more poets," he warned her. "I'm not strong 
 enough for poets. And no sloppy love yarns. Some- 
 thing exciting." 
 
 "All right," said Ann. 
 
 Holmes had already lent the invalid a few books. 
 Ann knew she might safely commandeer some more 
 from the smoking-room. 
 
 In the distance she saw the little girls riding home 
 across the paddocks, and so she rose to go. Dan was 
 moving about in the kitchen at the rear of the cottage, 
 cooking an evening meal. 
 
 On her way back to the homestead Ann told herself 
 that she had been quite mistaken in imagining her 
 feeling for Rodney Marsh was in any degree a serious 
 attachment. She liked him liked him tremendously.
 
 122 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ridiculous to have allowed herself to imagine there 
 was any sentiment mixed up in this feeling of com- 
 radeship. Already she was looking forward very 
 happily to visiting the cottage on the following day. 
 
 Almost every day during the week that followed, 
 unless prevented by her duties at the homestead, 
 Ann found some opportunity of seeing Rodney 
 Marsh. Sometimes she only looked in for a few min- 
 utes, but on most occasions she stayed for the best part 
 of an hour. She had taken him a varied selection of 
 books, and found him by no means so ignorant as she 
 had at first believed him to be. He was not a "book- 
 ish" person, but he was fond of reading, and often 
 surprised her by his preferences. "The Nigger of the 
 Narcissus" he read three times, and announced that 
 it was a fine book written by a fine man. At the end 
 of the week Ann no longer argued with herself as to 
 her feeling for the young shepherd. If he wanted her 
 to be his wife she knew that she would marry him. 
 
 Holmes had often told her that Marsh would find 
 no difficulty in obtaining the managership of some 
 station; and to her mental vision the picture of the 
 little homestead in the country became more vivid. 
 
 But did Marsh really care for her? He valued her 
 friendship, she felt sure, and he made it plain that he 
 recognized she was as he would put it "a cut above" 
 his associates at Omoana. Yet in this he was not dis- 
 loyal to his own acquaintances. They were good 
 enough for him not for her. He did not discuss Mrs. 
 Bentley beyond remarking that she was "a good sort," 
 but that as she'd struck up a great friendship with
 
 The Accident and After 123 
 
 Hicky, the Omoana "pub" would not see him Marsh 
 very much in the future. That at least was pleasant 
 news to Ann. It was quite apparent that Mrs. Bentley 
 no longer possessed a proprietary interest in the 
 young shepherd, for Rodney's tone was certainly not 
 that of a disappointed lover. 
 
 On the last afternoon before the party from Tirau 
 returned, Ann sat in the little front room talking to 
 the invalid. His knee was out of the splints now, and 
 he had been up for an hour or two that morning. 
 
 "You'll come tomorrow?" he asked. 
 
 "If I'm not too busy, I may be. Mrs. Pratt is on 
 the sick-list now. She's in bed today with a cold and a 
 slight temperature. I see myself getting the breakfast 
 tomorrow." 
 
 "Can you cook?" 
 
 "Not very brilliantly. But I can manage toast and 
 bacon and eggs, and a plain dinner. I'm making Mrs. 
 Pratt some jelly and chicken broth I'll save some 
 for you, then you'll be able to judge if I'm a good 
 cook or not." 
 
 "You can do everything." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "I've had to try to do a good many. My father was 
 a doctor in a hard-up suburb. But you told me I 
 should never make a sheep-farmer." 
 
 "That's a man's work." 
 
 "Pooh! Lots of girls are working on the land in 
 England." 
 
 They wrangled good-humoredly over this for a 
 time, and then she rose to depart. 
 
 "I hate your going," he said abruptly in a low 
 voice. Ann, standing close beside his bed, was silent. 
 
 Suddenly he took her hand, and turning his face
 
 124 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 on the pillow held her open palm under his cheek. 
 His lips moved: 
 
 "I love you." 
 
 The husky whisper had in it almost a note of pain. 
 It was as though the words had been forced from him 
 against his will. There was the sound of a step in the 
 passage. Ann moved away from the bedside, as Dan, 
 the Maori cow-boy and cook, stood in the doorway. 
 
 "I'll try to come tomorrow," said Ann, struggling 
 to make her voice even and unconcerned. 
 
 There was a muffled: "Thank you," from the 
 pillow. 
 
 Ann nodded to Dan as she passed him in the door- 
 way, and the next moment she was gone.
 
 VII 
 
 Disillusion 
 
 i. 
 
 WHEN Dick and Vera Holmes arrived with Waring 
 in the car on the following afternoon, they discovered 
 Ann, enveloped in a large apron, busy in the kitchen. 
 Mrs. Pratt being no better in the morning, she had 
 telephoned to Dr. Spencer. He pronounced the cook 
 to be suffering from a mild attack of influenza, and 
 ordered her to remain in bed. Ann and Emily be- 
 tween them had managed the housework, and now 
 Ann, a trifle flustered and a good deal flushed, was 
 wrestling with the dinner. She had not been free for 
 a moment all day to run along to the cottage; but she 
 had sent a message by Dan to say that she would try 
 to come down as soon as she was at liberty to leave the 
 homestead. She made some tea, and took it out to the 
 hot and dusty travelers who were seated on the 
 veranda. In a second she realized that the barometer 
 was not "set fair" as far as Vera and Waring were con- 
 cerned. Holmes, too, looked worried and unhappy. 
 Surely something more than the mere fact of the 
 team's having done badly at the tournament was at 
 the root of this general depression. "A cheerful trio!" 
 thought Ann. And with Mrs. Pratt ill in bed, it was a 
 cheerful outlook for the governess, who seemed to 
 have shouldered the responsibilities of the household.
 
 126 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 But Ann carried in her heart a glowing secret which 
 no worries of this ephemeral nature could quench or 
 dim. 
 
 "Cook-general now, are you, Miss Merrill?" re- 
 marked Waring. 
 
 "I suppose some one will have to do the work," 
 said Vera sharply. 
 
 "It's hardly Miss Merrill's job, is it?" asked Holmes. 
 Vera turned on her husband angrily. 
 
 "Surely as long as I'm mistress here it's for me to 
 say what Miss Merrill is to do, or not to do?" 
 
 "Cooking the dinner . . ." 
 
 "Who asked her to cook the dinner?" 
 
 "Oh, do let me finish it," said Ann. "I love trying 
 my hand at the cooking. It may not be very grand, but 
 it'll be eatable." 
 
 "You're looking very well on it at any rate," ob- 
 served Waring. "It's always a treat to see a cheerful 
 smile." 
 
 "Meaning . . . ?" asked Vera icily. 
 
 "That Miss Merrill looks, if possible, more charm- 
 ing than usual." 
 
 This was the first time Waring had ever paid her 
 compliments openly. Ann felt the atmosphere grow 
 still more electric, for she knew that it was done in- 
 tentionally. Certainly Mrs. Holmes's stormy face was 
 anything but attractive this afternoon; but why em- 
 phasize the fact? It seemed to Ann that Waring had 
 suddenly grown tired of Vera's tantrums and intended 
 to make that plain to her. The little governess 
 hastened back to the kitchen, and busied herself with 
 the pots and pans. She was on her knees before the 
 oven when Waring entered. He had strolled down 
 from his own room in the school-house, to the back
 
 Disillusion 127 
 
 door. Emily sat at the table shelling peas; Vera, ex- 
 cusing herself from giving any assistance in the 
 kitchen by saying she had a frightful headache, had 
 gone to lie down; and Holmes was in the smoking- 
 room writing letters. Ann congratulated herself on 
 the presence of Emily, when Waring appeared. But 
 Waring was too experienced in the gentle art of phi- 
 landering to find any difficulty in removing obstacles. 
 He removed Emily. 
 
 "I've lost my silver cigarette case," he said to her. 
 "It's probably dropped behind the cushions of the 
 car. Just run down to the garage and have a look, 
 will you? I'll give you five shillings if you find it." 
 
 "She's busy," said Ann, sharply. 
 
 "I'll take on her job," returned Waring coolly. 
 "Off you go, Emily." 
 
 Emily went. 
 
 "She'll be some time searching." He took the case 
 from his pocket. "Do you mind if I smoke?" 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 "One keeps one's head better smoking, and I want 
 to talk to you." 
 
 "I don't want to listen. And if you stay here you've 
 promised to do Emily's job." 
 
 "All right." He walked over to the table, and 
 picked up a green pod. Then he threw it down im- 
 patiently. "No, let them wait. I've thought of you 
 every minute of the time I've been away." 
 
 "Even during the polo?" asked Ann. 
 
 She was endeavoring to treat the situation lightly, 
 but she was more than a little disturbed. He disre- 
 garded her interruption. 
 
 "No girl has ever had the effect on me that you 
 have. It's the damned detached air of you, I think. Do
 
 128 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 you imagine I don't know that under that cool little 
 manner of yours there's fire? I can't be in a room two 
 minutes with you without wanting to kiss you." 
 
 He came a step nearer to her. Ann still held the 
 sizzling meat dish. "No man can attempt to kiss a 
 woman who holds a pan of boiling fat in her hands," 
 she reflected thankfully. 
 
 "Don't make me upset the mutton," she remarked 
 calmly. "Go on shelling the peas." 
 
 "Very well perhaps it's wiser. We know the prov- 
 erb about idle hands." 
 
 Ann couldn't hold the meat dish for ever, but she 
 now began an interminable basting of the joint. It 
 was a most ridiculous situation, and yet she knew that 
 the real and vital moments of life often occur at 
 curiously incongruous periods. They do not wait for 
 the stage to be set the scene rehearsed. 
 
 "You've come to mean more to me than any woman 
 I've ever known," he went on. "Kissing you that 
 night sent me mad. Will you marry me?" 
 
 Ann was so intensely astonished at this abrupt pro- 
 posal, that she narrowly escaped burning herself with 
 the basting spoon; but she still had sufficient com- 
 mand over her voice to answer in a matter-of-fact 
 tone: 
 
 "I'm sorry, but I can't." 
 
 "Why can't you?" 
 
 "I don't love you." 
 
 "You let me kiss you." 
 
 "I daresay you've kissed quite a number of people 
 you didn't love." 
 
 "Have you?" 
 
 "Not a number. Three to be accurate." 
 
 "And I'm one of them?"
 
 Disillusion 129 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You're the first woman I've ever asked to be my 
 wife." 
 
 "I don't know what I've don^ to deserve this dis- 
 tinction," she remarked dryly. 
 
 He came towards her again. 
 
 "We won't discuss the distinction of it but at least 
 from a common-sense point of view it's worth think- 
 ing about. Kopu is one of the best stations on the 
 coast, and it isn't mortgaged like most of them." 
 
 She looked at him steadily. 
 
 "Do you really want me to look at it from the 
 standpoint of common sense? To marry you for your 
 money?" 
 
 "I want you to marry me for whatever reason you 
 choose. I'll make you love me afterwards." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No. It's no use talking. I can't." 
 
 "That's final?" 
 
 "Quite final." 
 
 "Very well. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Wairiri, and 
 going on to Australia. But that doesn't mean that I'm 
 giving up hope. I shall be away for three months. But 
 they'll forward letters from Kopu, and if you change 
 your mind and decide to be ... kind to me, you've 
 only to write, and I'll come back " 
 
 A movement at the inner door checked him. Vera 
 Holmes stood there, her eyes burning in a strained, 
 pale face. How much had she heard, Ann wondered? 
 Not more than a few words, for the door had been 
 closed up to a second or two ago. But the mere fact of 
 Gerald being here alone with the governess was suffi- 
 cient to infuriate Vera in her present mood. When
 
 130 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 she spoke, however, she gave no sign of any violent 
 feeling. 
 
 "For goodness' sake don't carry your flirtations into 
 the kitchen, Gerald," she remarked contemptuously. 
 "If you want to make love to Miss Merrill, take her 
 out on the veranda, and I'll finish the dinner. But 
 I warn you, Miss Merrill, he's not to be taken seri- 
 ously. He can't help making love to every woman he 
 meets. It's an affliction, poor dear. I've known him 
 long enough to overlook it." 
 
 "I shouldn't dream of taking him seriously at any 
 time," said Ann. "He's supposed to be shelling peas 
 at the moment." 
 
 "Where's Emily?" 
 
 "I sent her down to the garage to find my cigarette 
 case which I have in my pocket. I thought I could 
 talk more comfortably to Miss Merrill alone. You're 
 quite right, Vera, I was making a mild attempt at 
 flirtation. Unfortunately, Miss Merrill seems more 
 interested in the mutton." 
 
 "I happen to realize that the dinner is of a great 
 deal more importance to you than I am. Very unro- 
 mantic, of course, to admit it, but I sadly fear it's 
 true." 
 
 The tension of Vera's face relaxed. 
 
 "Do you think you're ever going to get those peas 
 done in time, Gerald?" 
 
 "Not unless you come and help me." 
 
 "I can't sit here in the heat my head's awful." 
 
 "All right, I'll take them out on to the veranda. 
 You've got to do your share, though no putting all 
 the work on to me. Come along." 
 
 To Ann's great relief they left the kitchen together. 
 Had she been quite truthful in all she had said to
 
 Disillusion 131 
 
 Mrs. Holmes? Gerald Waring, perhaps for the first 
 time in his life, had been serious, and Ann knew it. 
 She hoped the Recording Angel would make allow- 
 ances for the awkwardness of the situation, and over- 
 look her lapse from strict veracity. 
 
 2. 
 
 After dinner, Ann wondered how she could escape 
 for a few moments down to the cottage. She must 
 see Rodney again. Ever since she had parted with 
 him, those words of his had been repeating them- 
 selves in her happy heart. "I love you." She wanted to 
 hear him say it again wanted to tell him that all her 
 love was his that she asked no greater happiness than 
 to be his wife. And now she realized how difficult it 
 would be unless she were definitely engaged to Rod- 
 ney Marsh to absent herself from the homestead in 
 order to visit him. 
 
 But this evening Fate seemed to be in a kind 
 mood. It was quite easily and naturally arranged. 
 Dick Holmes was going over to visit the patient. Ann 
 asked if she might go too. 
 
 "I told him I'd make him some chicken broth. 
 It's ready. I could take it in a jug." 
 
 "Be sure to bring my jug back," said Vera. 
 
 Did she care two straws about the jug, or was this 
 an indirect method of making certain that Ann was 
 going with Holmes? That meant, of course, that Vera 
 would be left to entertain Waring on the veranda 
 homestead. Again Ann reproached herself for this 
 suspicion. To be jealous of admiration openly ex- 
 pressed for another woman was characteristic of 
 Vera; but to wish to be continually alone with a man
 
 132 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 seemed to point to some feeling a little warmer than 
 friendship. Angry with herself for such a thought, 
 Ann dismissed it, and set off in the light of the sunset 
 across the paddocks with Dick Holmes. He was silent 
 and pre-occupied during the walk, but Ann, too, was 
 in no mood for conversation. She was glad that 
 Holmes was with her, for a certain shyness at meeting 
 Rodney again had seized her. Yet when they were all 
 together in the little front room, shadowed now in 
 the fading light, she found herself wishing fervently 
 that Holmes would leave her. After a few minutes 
 her wish was granted, for Holmes stepped out into 
 the kitchen to have a word with Macdonald. Now, 
 she and Rodney were quite alone, and Ann knew her 
 heart was beating painfully. 
 
 "I'm glad the knee's so much better," she remarked. 
 
 "Oh, it's getting on Ai now," returned Marsh. 
 "I've been walking a bit today." He paused, and then 
 went on abruptly. "I've been wanting to see you. 
 I've got to explain. I'm sorry for what I did . . . what 
 I said yesterday." He was speaking with some diffi- 
 culty. "No man has any right to ... to tell a woman 
 he loves her, if he doesn't mean to ask her to marry 
 him." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and then Ann 
 laughed. But she was glad he could not see her face. 
 
 "Are you breaking it gently to me that you don't 
 mean to do me that honor?" she asked. 
 
 "I don't know about it's being much honor," he 
 replied, "but I oughtn't to have said what I did when 
 I haven't any intention of marrying. I didn't mean to 
 say it." 
 
 "It wasn't true?"
 
 Disillusion 133 
 
 He did not reply for a moment, but Ann could 
 hear his labored breathing. 
 
 "I don't mean to marry," he said at last. 
 
 "Aren't you apologizing rather unnecessarily?" 
 asked Ann. "You seem to be taking it for granted 
 that I should accept your offer. It isn't very unusual 
 to visit people who are ill, you know." 
 
 "You've been kind in coming, but . . ." 
 
 "But I mustn't build any high hopes upon your 
 graciously allowing me to call upon you?" 
 
 "You're trying to show me I'm not good enough 
 for you talking like that." 
 
 "Is that what is at the back of your mind that 
 I'd think I was condescending in accepting you?" 
 
 "Nothing's at the back of my mind, except that 
 I don't mean to marry." 
 
 "Do you imagine that I'm likely to be broken- 
 hearted at your decision?" 
 
 "Oh, hell!" said Rodney Marsh into his pillow. 
 
 Again Ann laughed. Well, to laugh was better than 
 to cry; and if her laughter hurt the man lying there 
 beside the window, she didn't care. 
 
 "I can't very well decline what isn't offered, can 
 I?" she said. "But I'm sorry if anything in my man- 
 ner led you to believe that this explanation was nec- 
 essary. Let's forget the whole episode. Three or four 
 men have already told me that they love me. I've 
 learnt not to attach much importance to remarks 
 of that sort." Holmes was returning along the pas- 
 sage. "I hope you'll like my chicken broth," she 
 added brightly; and departed with the honors of war. 
 What were they worth, those honors? she asked 
 herself bitterly, as she walked home across the dark- 
 ening paddocks, beside the silent Holmes.
 
 134 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 She'd lied to Rodney when she'd let him think she 
 didn't care. She knew that she loved him, as she 
 believed she would never love any other man. But 
 must she accept the added humiliation of his knowl- 
 edge of that fact? Surely some rags of pride might be 
 left to her. She went to her room soon after they 
 reached the homestead. She meant to cook the break- 
 fast, she announced, and must get to bed early. Vera 
 protested feebly, but Ann was firm. She enjoyed 
 cooking, she asserted, and she had plenty of time on 
 her hands now that the little girls were not having 
 lessons. Holmes was writing in the smoking-room, 
 and Vera remained with Waring on the veranda. 
 Ann undressed and got into bed. She could pretend 
 to be asleep if Vera came to her room. But Vera did 
 not come. The lights went out in the homestead, and 
 Ann remained hour after hour, wide awake, staring 
 into the darkness. 
 
 What was she to do now? She couldn't stay on 
 here, seeing Rodney every day that would be more 
 than she could bear. She must get away. But where? 
 Take another situation as nursery governess? No, she 
 turned with distaste from the idea of having to live 
 in such intimate fashion with any family again. Yet 
 she must do something for her living. What? And 
 then as though she had summoned some magic to 
 her aid, she saw herself in a hat shop in Wairiri. 
 More than once she had been told by the women on 
 the coast stations that they could get nothing they 
 liked in the little town; and they had all admired the 
 hats she wore. She had enough capital to start in a 
 small way, and she could get some place with a room 
 behind or above the shop, in which she could live 
 by herself. That was what she wanted! To be alone.
 
 Disillusion 135 
 
 Not to be forced to act a part all day for fear some 
 one might guess her secret! It would hurt her to say 
 good-by to Biddy and Jo, but one must make up 
 one's mind to face these smaller sorrows. After all, if 
 one could face the biggest blow of all the desola- 
 tion . . . 
 
 No, she would not think of that! She had indulged 
 in some foolish romantic day-dream. It was over. 
 Some day she would forget it. Yet as she said that, 
 she knew that it wasn't true. The wound would heal 
 in time, no doubt but deep wounds leave scars for 
 ever. Ann turned on her bed in the darkness. She 
 wouldn't let herself think of what might have been 
 she wouldn't! She got up and lighted her lamp- 
 looked for a book. She'd been reading something a 
 book of Arnold Bennett's where was it? She re- 
 membered now, she'd left it up in the school-room. 
 Throwing pn a wrapper, Ann stepped out through 
 the open window across the veranda into the night. 
 Why hadn't she thought before of leaving her room 
 for the warm star lit darkness of the garden? One 
 could at least breathe here in the open. That terrible 
 constriction of the throat, the sense of physical op- 
 pression, seemed to be eased a little by the night wind 
 stirring the trees under the wide sky. And the restful, 
 silent hills brought some vague sense of distant peace. 
 
 On the grass borders passing round the house, 
 Ann's steps were noiseless. She reached the eastern 
 side, and mounted the path towards the school-room. 
 The door was open. She entered and fumbled at the 
 catch of the torch she had brought with her. She 
 must be quiet, for Gerald Waring slept in the room 
 adjoining. Then suddenly she heard his voice. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Vera. You've said yourself that
 
 136 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 it must end. Think what it would mean if Dick 
 knew." 
 
 There was the sound of a woman sobbing. 
 
 Ann stepped back from the school-room, and fled 
 down the pathway towards the house.
 
 VIII 
 
 Good-by to Tirau 
 
 i. 
 
 WARING left early in the morning. He endeavored 
 to see Ann, but she eluded him. She also avoided Mrs. 
 Holmes, and spent her day with Emily furiously at- 
 tacking the housework. By dint of much hard 
 physical labor she was able to still the turmoil of her 
 thoughts, and so get through the dreadful day. 
 
 She had found the answer to all her questions, but 
 heart-sick and wretched, endeavored to shut out from 
 memory the knowledge she had gained. Life had 
 seemed cruel after her interview with Rodney. Now 
 it appeared to be evil also. She was conscious of a 
 great pity for I)ick Holmes, and for the little girls, 
 but she knew that nothing now even apart from the 
 question of meeting Rodney again would induce her 
 to stay at Tirau. 
 
 During the evening she told Vera Holmes of her 
 decision to leave. 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked Vera sharply. 
 
 In her tone Ann read a thought of Waring and his 
 visit to Australia. 
 
 "To Wairiri," she answered. "I believe there's an 
 opening there for a hat shop. I've decided to start 
 one." 
 
 She could not bring herself to discuss her plans
 
 138 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 with Mrs. Holmes. But in truth the latter seemed to 
 display very little interest in them, now that she was 
 assured as to Ann's intentions. Her eyes were darkly 
 ringed, but vague, as though oblivious of outward 
 things, and seeing only some vision of despair. 
 
 "You'll stay here until the end of the week?" 
 
 "Of course I will if you wish me to." 
 
 "I shall have to go into Wairiri myself tomorrow 
 I'll make arrangements for Biddy and Jo to go to 
 Mrs. Marley's school there. She often has children in 
 the holidays, so they could go at once. I don't feel 
 well enough to manage them myself at present." 
 
 Mrs. Pratt was better, but her temperature was still 
 above normal, and she was not yet able to leave her 
 room. Consequently, Ann cooked the breakfast again 
 next morning, and fell upon the housework with the 
 same fierce concentration. It was at least a blessing to 
 be able to tire one's self out physically in this way. 
 She was alone with Emily, for Mrs. Holmes had been 
 motored into Omoana by Pratt, after an early break- 
 fast, in order to catch the service car to Wairiri. When 
 Pratt returned he came up to the house with a note. 
 Emily took it from him at the back door, and brought 
 it in to Ann. It was addressed to Holmes, and it was 
 in Vera's big, bold handwriting. 
 
 Ann supposed that it was a message letting Dick 
 Holmes know what time Vera wished to be met in the 
 evening. The service car from Wairiri usually reached 
 Omoana between four and five. But Holmes was 
 away at the back of the run, and Ann put the note on 
 the table in the smoking-room, to await his return. 
 
 He did not get back to lunch, and it was only when 
 she was giving the little girls their tea that she heard 
 his step on the veranda. He moved into the smoking-
 
 Good-by to Tirau 139 
 
 room, and after a few minutes Ann went in to draw 
 his attention to the note. But he had already opened 
 it. He was standing with it in his hand. 
 
 "Shall I have dinner ready at the usual time?" 
 asked Ann. "Or will Mrs. Holmes be home later?" 
 
 "She's not coming back tonight," returned Holmes. 
 He said no more, and Ann returned to the dining- 
 room. But when dinner was ready, she went again to 
 call him. He was sitting at his writing-desk, and closed 
 a drawer quickly as she entered. 
 
 "Will you come in to dinner, Mr. Holmes?" 
 
 "I don't want any," he answered, without turning 
 to her. "Have yours, will you?" 
 
 "Don't you feel well? You're not getting Mrs. 
 Pratt's 'flu, are you?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so. How is she?" 
 
 "Better tonight. She hasn't really been very ill. 
 She's getting up tomorrow." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "Can't I get you anything?" 
 
 "No thanks. I'll take some aspirin and go to bed." 
 
 But he didn't go to bed. He had not moved from 
 the smoking-room when Ann, worn out after her 
 sleepless night and hard day's work, was herself think- 
 ing of retiring. The little girls had long ago dropped 
 off. The whole house was quiet. What ought she to 
 do? Something in that note had disturbed Dick 
 Holmes profoundly. What was it? Ann didn't dare to 
 think. But she resolved that she would go again to the 
 smoking-room and see what was happening. Dick 
 Holmes was still sitting where she had left him two 
 hours previously, but the drawer of his desk was open, 
 and something a small shining object lay at his
 
 140 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 right hand. He pulled a paper over it, but not before 
 Ann had seen what it was. 
 
 "I can't go to bed if I know you're still sitting 
 here," said Ann, trying to speak lightly. "Do go to 
 your room now, Mr. Holmes, please." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 He rose, and to Ann's relief pushed the hidden ob- 
 ject into the drawer, and turned the key upon it. 
 
 "I'm going to bring you some hot whisky and 
 lemon. I don't want another 'flu patient on my 
 hands." 
 
 "I'm all right," he turned and faced her, attempt- 
 ing a smile. His face was ghastly. 
 
 "You don't look all right. Go straight to your 
 room. I'll turn out the lamp here." 
 
 "For a small woman, you're exceedingly auto- 
 cratic." 
 
 "Small women always are." 
 
 She had moved to the desk, and without his notic- 
 ing her movement, she quietly removed the keys. She 
 felt easier now that she had them concealed in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Please, Mr. Holmes, go to bed at once." 
 
 He smiled again. 
 
 "Waste of time arguing with a woman. She's bound 
 to get her own way in the end." He lighted two 
 candles standing on a side table. "I'm quite capable 
 of putting out the light, you know." 
 
 "I'll do it." 
 
 She extinguished the lamp, and each holding a 
 lighted candle they moved out into the hall. 
 
 The kettle on the stove was still boiling. Ann 
 mixed the whisky and lemon, and brought it to his
 
 Good-by to Tirau 141 
 
 door. He was in his pajamas when he took the glass 
 from her. 
 
 But Ann herself did not get into bed until the win- 
 dow of his bedroom was in darkness. All safe for to- 
 night at any rate! 
 
 The drawer in which that shining object lay was 
 safely locked, and the keys were under Ann's pillow. 
 
 2. 
 
 But at about three o'clock she woke with a start. 
 A light was shining across the veranda from Dick 
 Holmes's room. Ann could see it through her open 
 french window. She jumped out of bed, and seized 
 her wrapper. On the blind of the bay window there 
 was a shadow the shadow of a man holding some- 
 thing in his hand! 
 
 What a fool she'd been! Locks could be forced. 
 
 She flew along the passage, and without waiting to 
 knock at his door she entered. 
 
 He turned and faced her, still holding the revolver 
 in his hand. 
 
 "No, Mr. Holmes," she said quietly, "you're not 
 going to do that." 
 
 He was too amazed to resist, as she walked over and 
 took the revolver from him. He stared at her for a 
 moment, and then sank into a chair beside the bed 
 with his two hands covering his face. Ann put the re- 
 volver down on the dressing-table, and came and 
 knelt beside him. 
 
 "What is it?" she said. "Tell me." 
 
 "I'm ruined," he said in a husky whisper. "And 
 Vera's . . . gone." 
 
 But as she asked the question she felt that she al-
 
 142 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 ready knew the answer. Waring was leaving for Aus- 
 tralia! 
 
 "On to Hawkeston from Wairiri today. I don't 
 know what she means to do afterwards. But she'll 
 never come back. She said so in her letter. She wants 
 her freedom. Only divorce ... or death will give her 
 that." 
 
 "Does she know you're ruined?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I don't think so. The bank's foreclosing. I only 
 heard it after the tournament. I thought I could 
 worry through somehow in spite of the bad luck at 
 shearing. But I couldn't raise money anywhere. She 
 has a little of her own." 
 
 "Surely if she knew . . . she couldn't leave you. . . ." 
 
 "What good can she do? And do you think I want 
 to bring her back by whining out a hard-luck story 
 when I know she'd rather give up Biddy and Jo than 
 live with me again?" 
 
 "But Mr. Waring . . ." 
 
 "I can't drag Gerald into it. He's a good pal, and 
 he's well off. He'd probably do what he could to 
 finance me, but he isn't made of money, and I'm not 
 going to be a burden to my friends." 
 
 Ann sat back and looked at him, and suddenly she 
 realized that the truth, as she knew it, was hidden 
 from him. He did not connect Vera's flight with War- 
 ing. Well, he was spared something at least, and Ann 
 was resolved that as long as possible she would shield 
 him from all knowledge of that secret. 
 
 "What good would you have done by using . . . 
 that?" 
 
 She pointed across to the dressing-table. 
 
 "It would be an end. I can't go on. Vera's been
 
 Good-by to Tirau 143 
 
 everything to me. I can't stop loving her just because 
 she's . . . left me." 
 
 "What about Biddy and Jo?" 
 
 His face worked convulsively for a moment. 
 
 "The insurance company would provide for them 
 far better than I can now. My policy would hold 
 even if I . . ." 
 
 His hands went up to his face again. His shoulders 
 moved and Ann knew that he was sobbing the diffi- 
 cult, hard sobs of a man. In a second her arms were 
 round him. In the face of deep human suffering, sex 
 is non-existent. He was a child, and Ann a mother. 
 She was conscious of nothing but an overwhelming, 
 yearning pity an urgent desire to comfort, and to 
 heal. And this she did. She had no clear memory of 
 the words she spoke the arguments she used. But at 
 last she had his promise. He would never attempt 
 to find that way out again. 
 
 She went back to her room in the dawn, knowing 
 that at least she had accomplished something. She had 
 saved their father for Biddy and Jo. 
 
 It was after seven when she was awakened by a 
 knock. Mrs. Pratt entered. 
 
 "You're all right then, Mrs. Pratt?" said Ann cheer- 
 fully. "Able to be up again?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you," said Mrs. Pratt, her good-natured 
 face set primly. She shut the door behind her, and 
 advanced into the room. "I should be glad if you 
 would get up, as I've sent Emily back to the cottage, 
 and as soon as I been paid my wages, I should like to 
 
 go-" 
 
 "Go!" echoed Ann, bewildered. "Whatever for? 
 
 Don't you feel well enough to " 
 
 "It isn't any question of my 'ealth" said Mrs. Pratt
 
 144 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 emphatically. "It's the goings-on 'ere I won't put up 
 with. No, not if I was ever so poor I wouldn't. Re- 
 spectable houses I've always been in, and so I shall 
 continue. But let me tell you it'll be my duty to let 
 the mistress 'ear of what 'as 'appened, and what I 
 know for my own certain knowledge." 
 
 "What on earth are you talking about, Mrs. Pratt?" 
 asked Ann, bewildered. 
 
 "Young ladies going into gentlemen's bedrooms 
 without so much as a knock, and with next to nothing 
 on, in the dead of night, and staying there for two 
 good solid hours, as I timed it by the clock, is more 
 than I've been accustomed to in any house I've been 
 in service in, and at my time of life and with a young 
 innocent daughter, it's what I can't stand, and what's 
 more I won't." 
 
 "Mr. Holmes was ill . . ." 
 
 "Then he's recovered very quickly," returned Mrs. 
 Pratt dryly, "seeing that he's already up and been in 
 the smoking-room this hour past writing letters." 
 
 "Have you spoken to him about . . . about this?" 
 asked Ann. 
 
 "I have not. I could not bring myself to mention so 
 indelicate a matter to any but one of my own sect, 
 however lacking in right feeling she may be. And to 
 think the moment the poor dear mistress's back is 
 turned this should . . ." 
 
 "Mrs. Pratt," said Ann, earnestly, "I beg you to be- 
 lieve that I'm speaking the truth. Mr. Holmes was 
 ... in great trouble. I had no idea of anything except 
 to help him." 
 
 "Just now I understood he was supposed to be ill." 
 
 "You are mistaken in what you think."
 
 Good-by to Tirau 145 
 
 "That's as may be. I leave as soon as my wages is 
 paid." 
 
 It was useless to argue with the woman. She would 
 never be convinced. And why should she not imagine 
 what she did? What other construction would any one 
 who did not know the true circumstances put upon 
 the case? What did Ann herself believe of Vera? 
 
 "Very well, Mrs. Pratt, if I can't say anything to 
 make you absolutely certain that I am speaking the 
 truth, you'd better go." 
 
 Mrs. Pratt withdrew, and Ann rose, and dressed. 
 
 But the woman was still sitting in the kitchen when 
 Ann went out to see about the breakfast. 
 
 "I thought you had gone," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Pratt's usually kindly face looked grim. 
 
 "I don't stir from here until I've had my wages," 
 she returned. 
 
 "Haven't you asked Mr. Holmes for them?" 
 
 "I have, and received the reply that he'd see about 
 it. I'm waiting for him to see, but I'll have the law 
 on him if they ain't paid prompt." 
 
 Ann went along the hall to the smoking-room. 
 Holmes turned as she entered, and gave her a rather 
 touching smile. 
 
 "You've been no end of a brick to me," he said. 
 
 "Let's forget about last night," she answered. "Mrs. 
 Pratt doesn't seem to think she can manage here any 
 more. She wants to go." 
 
 "Very well, I suppose she must." 
 
 "But she's waiting for her wages." 
 
 He looked down at the writing paper in front of 
 him in silence for a moment, and then said slowly: 
 
 "I haven't any ready money." 
 
 "Couldn't you give her a check?"
 
 146 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "The bank would dishonor it." 
 
 "All right, don't worry. I'll get rid of her some- 
 how." 
 
 She went swiftly back to her own room, and got out 
 the roll of dirty notes which she had won at the races, 
 and which she had luckily neglected to pay into the 
 Savings Bank. With the money in her hand she re- 
 turned to the kitchen. Pratt had already removed the 
 two small baskets which Mrs. Pratt and Emily had 
 brought up for their sojourn at the homestead, and 
 now, having been paid, Mrs. Pratt herself departed. 
 
 Ann gave the children their breakfast, and sent 
 them out to play; then took something for herself and 
 Holmes on a tray to the smoking-room. 
 
 "I really don't want anything to eat," he protested. 
 
 "Well, I shan't take anything if you don't. Be 
 sensible, Mr. Holmes. Didn't Napoleon or some one 
 say battles couldn't be fought on empty stomachs? 
 Life altogether seems more or less a battle, so if we're 
 not to be defeated we'd better eat." 
 
 She managed to coax him to take an egg and some 
 toast and to drink a cup of coffee. 
 
 "Now, will you be quite frank with me, and tell me 
 the position?" she asked. 
 
 Apparently the bank would take over everything. 
 He and the children would be practically penniless. 
 But if he could settle the children somewhere for a 
 month or two, he could probably get a job as manager 
 of a sheep-station, or even as a shepherd he would 
 take anything in the district. 
 
 '"Isn't there a school for little girls in Wairiri kept 
 by a Mrs. Marley, or some one?" 
 
 "Yes, but I couldn't pay the fees." 
 
 "Well, I can for the first three months."
 
 Good-by to Tirau 147 
 
 His elbow was on the desk. He rested his head on 
 his hand so that his face was almost hidden. 
 
 "How can I allow that?" he asked huskily. "I be- 
 lieve I owe you your salary too. Oh, my God!" 
 
 "Mr. Holmes, for heaven's sake don't make mole- 
 hills into mountains. Let's be practical. The great 
 thing at the moment is to settle the children comfort- 
 ably so that you won't be worried while you're ar- 
 ranging matters. Probably things will turn out better 
 than you think. I have some money in the bank, more 
 than I need. I'm going to start a little hat shop in 
 Wairiri, and I know I'm going to make a very good 
 thing out of it. It's my one talent millinery." 
 
 "You have another." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Kindness," he answered quietly. "You're . . . 
 you're . . ." 
 
 "Never mind what I am," she said hastily. "That's 
 settled then. Now, could you take me and the chil- 
 dren into Wairiri in the car to-day? I'll be responsible 
 for them at the school." 
 
 "But the term doesn't start till February." 
 
 "Mrs. Marley takes children in the holidays. I ... 
 I was told so." She instinctively avoided mentioning 
 Vera's name. "Until the end of the next term you 
 won't have to worry a scrap about Biddy and Jo. I'll 
 keep an eye on them at school. That gives you five 
 months, and if you just concentrate on your own af- 
 fairs, I'm sure you'll find before long that things will 
 be brighter." 
 
 With his hands still shading his eyes, he tried in 
 broken words to thank her, but she would not listen 
 to him. She went instead to pack the children's 
 clothes.
 
 148 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Down at the garage, Ann was stowing small suit- 
 cases into the car. The children were playing quite 
 happily in the sunshine on the tennis lawn, and 
 Holmes had gone over to the cottage to interview the 
 men before his departure. But Rodney Marsh was not 
 with the other station hands. That morning, for the 
 first time since his accident, he had saddled his horse 
 and ridden out over the paddocks at the back of the 
 homestead. He reached the stockyard slip-rails as Ann 
 passed into the garage. She did not see him, but he 
 had caught sight of her as he rode down the hillside. 
 He dismounted to lower the slip-rails and for a mo- 
 ment he stood irresolute. Then as though making up 
 his mind suddenly, he hitched his bridle to one of the 
 posts, and limped into the garage. Ann started as she 
 saw the sudden apparition, but she did not speak. 
 
 Marsh's formidable jaw was set; his brows drawn 
 down in a fierce scowl. 
 
 "Going into Wairiri?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 "Who's taking you?" 
 
 "Mr. Holmes." 
 
 "Oh, by God, that's too much!" 
 
 The concentrated fury of his voice brought Ann 
 round to face him. 
 
 "I don't understand what you are shouting at me 
 like that for," she said coldly. 
 
 "You know well enough," said Marsh, coming 
 closer to her. "Isn't what happened last night enough 
 without this?" 
 
 She eyed him steadily.
 
 Good-by to Tirau 149 
 
 "Mrs. Pratt, I suppose, has already been spreading 
 her ridiculous story. I didn't know you gossiped with 
 her." 
 
 "Pratt said . . ." 
 
 "You've had it second-hand then, have you? I've 
 no doubt it lost nothing in the telling." 
 
 "Is it true?" 
 
 "That I was with Mr. Holmes for two hours last 
 night yes." 
 
 He gave some sound of inarticulate rage. Ann paid 
 no attention to it. She went on putting the suit-cases 
 and bundles in the car, but she was shaking so much 
 that she could scarcely lift them. He came close to her 
 and took her arm. 
 
 "Why don't you explain . . ." he said thickly. 
 
 "I see no reason to explain anything to you. Think 
 what you please. Let go my arm." 
 
 He let her go, and after a moment, holding by the 
 car to steady herself, she faced him again. 
 
 "You've called Mr. Holmes a 'white man' you 
 know he is. And you know in your heart that if I was 
 with him it was for no ... no base purpose. You are 
 jealous of me, that's all." 
 
 He said nothing, and controlling her voice a little 
 more she went on: 
 
 "You told me a day or two ago that you loved me. 
 I see now that in your own way you do. But you love 
 yourself better. You won't sacrifice what you're 
 pleased to call your freedom. Well, I don't want to be 
 loved like that not just ... just desired. I want to be 
 respected, and trusted, and ..." Suddenly her voice 
 broke. "Go away," she said passionately. "I don't want 
 to see you any more. I wish I'd never met you."
 
 150 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "All right," he said. "I'll leave Tirau. I'll go 
 droving." 
 
 "I don't care what you do!" She was fumbling with 
 the cases now seeing nothing, for she was blinded by 
 tears. 
 
 "Good-by, then," said Marsh. 
 
 He waited for a moment, but her back was turned 
 to him and she did not speak. He limped out of the 
 garage, mounted his horse, and rode away.
 
 IX 
 
 The Hat Shop 
 
 i. 
 
 DURING the two hours' drive into Wairiri, Ann chat- 
 tered quite gayly with Holmes, beside whom she sat 
 on the front seat, and with Biddy and Jo packed in 
 amongst the luggage in the back. The little girls ac- 
 cepted this sudden removal quite delightedly. The 
 excitement of going into town enthralled them. The 
 thought of being in Wairiri gilded the pill of parting 
 with Mummy and Dad, and Miss Merrill. But they 
 were not really going to be separated from her, Ann 
 told them. Mummy had had to go away, and so they 
 would be much better at Mrs. Marley's, and Ann 
 herself was going to have a dear little shop and sell 
 hats. They could visit her there sometimes, and they'd 
 have picnics together, and lots of fun. Apparently the 
 party from Tirau were all in the best of spirits! The 
 journey down the coast might have been a veritable 
 joy-ride. At any rate the children believed it to be 
 something of the sort. They drove first to the school, 
 where Holmes interviewed Mrs. Marley, and there 
 the little girls were left. Now came the dreadful mo- 
 ment for Ann, of drawing up at the Imperial Hotel, 
 descending with her luggage, and seeing Holmes 
 drive away in the car. He was staying at the club. He 
 could always run up a bill there, he remarked, with a
 
 152 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 smile which was both cynical and pathetic. But as 
 Ann followed the porter up to her little bedroom on 
 the first floor, she knew the utter loneliness and deso- 
 lation of the shipwrecked mariner. The hotel was a 
 desert island where she was stranded, with nothing to 
 look forward to, nothing to hope for. 
 
 She reached her room, locked the door, lay down 
 on her bed, and had a good, solid cry. After that, feel- 
 ing a trifle better, she got up, bathed her eyes, un- 
 packed, and rang for tea. Then when she had finished, 
 as it was still early, she decided that she would waste 
 no time, but would go out, find an estate agent, and 
 see if she could discover a suitable room for her hat 
 shop. And she would purchase material, and spend 
 her evening in creating one or two Parisian models. 
 No matter if it were weeks before she found her 
 room she would employ every available moment of 
 her time when not searching for her location in man- 
 ufacturing her stock-in-trade. Love, or money, 
 seemed to be the two rival interests of most people's 
 lives; and money, with the majority, apparently took 
 first place. It never would with Ann, but she couldn't 
 find love not the love she wanted and so the rest of 
 her life should be devoted to amassing a fortune. She 
 would make a success of her new venture, and be- 
 come a rich woman. 
 
 That being settled, she jotted down a note of her 
 resources, and a plan of campaign. After deducting 
 the fees for the children for the remainder of the 
 holidays and the first term she would have about 
 three hundred and thirty-five pounds in ready cash. 
 Not a very vast sum with which to start a large and 
 flourishing business. But Ann wasn't going to think 
 of the difficulties. Suppose she lost all her little capi-
 
 The Hat Shop 153 
 
 tal in the first six months, she could still take a posi- 
 tion as nursery governess, or lady-help. No woman 
 willing to do household work would ever be stranded 
 in this country. "Lady-help" was merely a euphe- 
 mism for general servant; and domestic servants were 
 almost impossible to obtain for situations in the back 
 blocks. The few that were available remained in 
 Wairiri itself, where life was gayer. 
 
 So, at about four-thirty, Ann left the hotel, and 
 made her way to the nearest estate agent. Here she 
 discovered, not without a slight feeling of dismay, 
 that she was unlikely to secure two rooms in a good 
 position at any rental less than four pounds a week. 
 She took the address of one or two places, and 
 looked at them. But they were not suitable. Then 
 she visited the biggest draper in the main street. 
 Again she received something of a shock. Ribbons, 
 silks, brocades, flowers and feathers, were nearly three 
 times the price she had been accustomed to pay in 
 London. She went on to a smaller shop and here, 
 where a summer sale was in progress, secured at a less 
 prohibitive cost a few oddments and remnants which 
 might be useful to her. She also purchased some 
 buckram shapes which she thought she could re- 
 model, and had them sent to the hotel. By this time 
 it was nearly six, and all the business premises were 
 closing. Ann returned to her little room on the first 
 floor of the Imperial, and again got out note-book 
 and pencil. Two hundred a year for rent, and fifty 
 pounds at least for shop fittings and furnishing. That 
 left her less than one hundred for her stock and her 
 living expenses for the year. It didn't seem an alto- 
 gether promising outlook; but Ann refused to be 
 discouraged, and she set to work at once on one of
 
 154 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 the hats, and continued sewing busily until the gong 
 sounded for dinner, and she made her way down to 
 the dining-room. 
 
 She was just finishing her fish when she looked up 
 to see Ralston and his wife, and Nell Brunton, enter 
 the room. Mrs. Ralston caught sight of her, nodded, 
 and then crossed to her table. 
 
 "What are you doing here all by yourself?" she 
 asked. "Taking a holiday?" 
 
 "Not exactly," said Ann. "Mrs. Holmes hasn't 
 been very well, and has gone away for a trip. The 
 children are at Mrs. Marley's." 
 
 Edith Ralston looked surprised. 
 
 "Rather sudden, wasn't it? Vera never said any- 
 thing about going away during the tournament." 
 
 "She always makes up her mind quickly," replied 
 Ann. 
 
 "And what are you going to do? Shall you be re- 
 turning to Tirau later?" 
 
 Ann shook her head. 
 
 "As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of starting a 
 hat shop." 
 
 "Here? In Wairiri?" 
 
 "Yes. Do you think there's an opening for one?" 
 
 "Rather! You'll make your fortune, I expect." 
 
 Ann laughed. 
 
 "That's what I'm aiming at. But I find expenses 
 rent and things much higher than I thought they 
 would be." 
 
 "Will your shop be open before Race Week?" 
 
 "I don't know when that is." 
 
 "The Wairiri Jockey Club has a two days' meeting 
 at the end of this month, and the Turf Club another
 
 The Hat Shop 155 
 
 day early in February. Oh, for goodness' sake have 
 some pretty hats for us, for the races." 
 
 "I'll do my best," said Ann. 
 
 "Don't forget to send me a card before your open- 
 ing day. We go home tomorrow Bill and I Nell's 
 staying on for a week with the Harveys; but we'll be 
 down again at the end of the month. All the coast 
 people come in to Wairiri for the races." 
 
 "Well, tell them not to buy their hats before 
 they've seen mine," said Ann. 
 
 "Of course I will but you must let me have first 
 choice, you know. I want something to go with a sort 
 of pinky beige dress. I wouldn't mind a black not 
 too big; but at the same time one can't wear anything 
 very small here in the summer. It's too hot." 
 
 Mrs. Ralston began an animated discussion of hats, 
 until she saw her husband signaling to her from 
 across the room, and departed. 
 
 Well, that sounded hopeful, thought Ann; and 
 finishing her dinner as quickly as possible, she went 
 back to her room, and to the study of Vogue, and one 
 or two other fashion papers which she had bought 
 that afternoon. 
 
 2. 
 
 Within two days Ann had secured her shop. The 
 rental she was obliged to pay was two hundred and 
 fifty pounds a year. But there was a small room at 
 the back in which she could live, and the position 
 was good a busy little thoroughfare running at right 
 angles to the main street. Two doors from the build- 
 ing in which her rooms were situated, was one of the 
 largest garages in the town. Most of the country peo- 
 pleher prospective customers used the garage for
 
 156 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 their cars, and consequently would pass her place of 
 business. And though the rent was bigger than she 
 had anticipated, Ann was not forced to sign a lease, 
 but took it for six months, with the option of a fur- 
 ther tenancy. One of the greatest advantages in her 
 eyes was the fact that the rooms were in a newly-built 
 block, so that cream-colored paint work and dis- 
 tempered walls were fresh and clean. There was a 
 basin with running water in the back room, and a gas 
 ring. Electric light was fitted throughout. 
 
 She was alone inspecting her new domain, the 
 morning things were settled, when there was a knock 
 at the shop door. She had already taken the precau- 
 tion of tacking sheets of brown paper over the lower 
 part of the window facing the street, so that whatever 
 work she had to do might be done in private. Open- 
 ing the door she found Holmes in the narrow hall 
 outside. 
 
 "I tracked you to the agent's, and on here," he said, 
 as he entered. 
 
 She closed the door behind him, and they stood 
 together in the bare little room. 
 
 "I'm off back to Tirau this afternoon," he said. 
 
 "What do they say at the bank?" 
 
 She had seen him for a few minutes the night 
 before. To neither of them did it appear strange that 
 she should ask the question so frankly. The last three 
 days had brought them strangely near to one another, 
 and Ann knew that it was a relief to him to be able 
 to confide in her. 
 
 "They're behaving rather decently. I'm to carry 
 on there as manager for the present, at any rate. 
 As a matter of fact, I'd rather have got right away
 
 The Hat Shop 157 
 
 taken a job in another part of the district but I 
 know it's more sensible to accept their offer." 
 
 There was something Ann wanted to know, but 
 she would not mention it. Money affairs she could 
 discuss with him, but not his wife. She wondered if 
 Vera would return or if she would follow Waring to 
 Australia. Ann was convinced in her own mind that 
 it was not at Waring's instigation that Vera had left 
 her husband. She had been driven frantic by her 
 lover's wish to bring his intimacy with her to an 
 end. It would be like her to make a desperate bid for 
 his return. 
 
 "Vera has gone to Wellington," he said suddenly. 
 "McMurray came into the club last night. He saw 
 her on the Hawkeston railway platform yesterday 
 morning. She talked of going on to Australia. Of 
 course, McMurray thought I knew ... I pretended 
 I did." 
 
 He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. Ann searched 
 his face for any sign of suspicion. Waring had gone 
 by way of Auckland; and Vera to Wellington; but 
 from both ports steamers sailed to Sydney. No, she 
 decided, he still did not connect Vera's flight with 
 Waring's departure. There was misery in his eyes, 
 but neither jealousy nor anger. She could think of no 
 comment to make on his news, and after a moment 
 he went on: 
 
 "I'm not going to try and thank you for all you've 
 done. Biddy and Jo are better at Mrs. Marley's until 
 after . . . the bankruptcy. I'll see that you get the 
 money back as soon as possible." 
 
 "For goodness' sake don't worry about that. Come 
 and look at my premises."
 
 158 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 She took him into the back room and showed him 
 how she meant to arrange everything. 
 
 "If you're short of cash at the start, you've got to 
 let me know. I'll raise it somehow." 
 
 "But I'm not short and I won't be. I'm going to 
 make money." 
 
 "What a good plucked 'un you are." 
 
 Ann knew a sudden stab at the heart when he said 
 that. It was the phrase Rodney had used! 
 
 "Not much pluck needed to devote yourself to 
 money-making." 
 
 "You'll do it too. I don't think Fate could ever be 
 unkind to any one like you." 
 
 "I'll try to believe you're right," said Ann smiling 
 at him gayly. 
 
 But in her heart she knew that he was wrong. 
 There were other things in life besides money. 
 
 She opened the shop door for him, and stood for 
 a moment in the entrance hall bidding him good-by. 
 Under the iron-roofed verandas extending across the 
 pavement, they were shaded from the hot sunshine 
 which lay in a flood of golden light on the roadway 
 beyond. They could see the bridge to their right, and 
 the blue of the river. Cars and carts went by in the 
 street; then a lumbering wool-dray; a Maori riding 
 slowly with three sheep-dogs at his horse's heels; on 
 the pavement a few leisurely pedestrians strolled 
 along. No one was ever in a hurry in this little town! 
 
 Two girls passing stared at Holmes and Ann rather 
 curiously. Then one nodded, and Ann recognized 
 Nell Brunton. 
 
 "Good-by," said Holmes. "I'll send you a line to 
 say how things are going but I'm not likely to have 
 much news."
 
 The Hat Shop 159 
 
 "I'll keep an eye on the children, and write and tell 
 you how they are." 
 
 He held her hand closely for a moment, and then 
 he was gone. 
 
 3- 
 
 During the whole of that afternoon Ann sought 
 vainly for a charwoman. Apparently they were 
 non-existent in Wairiri. One, who asked twelve 
 shillings a day, said she might come in a week's 
 time. But as Ann wanted her floors scrubbed imme- 
 diately, so that she could get them stained, she 
 bought bucket, soap, and scrubbing brush, and leav- 
 ing the hotel after dinner, went down to her rooms 
 and scrubbed them out herself. She was not a very 
 speedy scrubber, but she was so thorough that when 
 she got back to the hotel she was thankful to flop into 
 a hot bath, and was so tired that she was almost 
 asleep before she finally tumbled into bed. 
 
 But to be doing all this rough work when her time 
 should be spent on making hats was, Ann knew, be- 
 ing a penny wise and a pound foolish. She was 
 fortunate enough to get a handy man newly arrived 
 from London and so not too superior to do odd jobs 
 the next day. He cleaned the windows, stained the 
 floors and began the painting of a few old wooden 
 tables and chairs which Ann had purchased cheaply 
 in a neighboring auction-room. He had a wife too, 
 who was willing to do some sewing. Ann blessed the 
 day of this young couple's arrival in New Zealand; 
 and congratulated herself upon the fact that they 
 were not yet "acclimatized" enough to begin their 
 work late and leave off early. They were intelligent, 
 hard-working, and willing to turn their hands to any-
 
 i6o Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 thing. The sort of emigrants who, in a few years' 
 time, would be living in a house of their own, and in 
 possession of a neat little Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Hill made up the pretty curtains which Ann 
 got for the shop and for her bedroom; stitched covers 
 for chairs and cushioned lounge; and did many other 
 necessary sewing jobs. Ann, in the intervals of pur- 
 chasing cheap second-hand furniture and directing 
 operations, was working furiously at her hat-making. 
 She visited the two warehouses in the town, but 
 found the millinery there commonplace and dowdy. 
 She was, however, able to purchase a certain amount 
 of stock which she could alter and re-trim. She had 
 determined that she would never have anything but 
 exclusive millinery. In a small town like this, boast- 
 ing of less than thirteen thousand inhabitants where 
 nearly all her customers would know one another 
 she must never repeat a successful model. 
 
 Mrs. Hill was undoubtedly a "find." She was neat, 
 and clever with her needle, and under Ann's direc- 
 tions was able to do a considerable amount to help 
 with the hats, as well as the plain sewing. 
 
 Less than ten days after finding the rooms, Ann 
 was ready, and prepared to begin business. She had 
 been for some time installed in the back room, and 
 now had forty hats ready for her first display. 
 
 The shop with its black floor and tables; its bright 
 orange rugs; jade green wooden chairs; and cretonne- 
 covered lounge; old-fashioned gilt mirrors; tall jars 
 of flowers; and its array of charming hats undoubt- 
 edly looked exceedingly attractive. Anticipating a 
 rush on the first day, Ann engaged Mrs. Hill to be in 
 attendance; and they were both in a state of great 
 excitement when they opened the street door at
 
 The Hat Shop 161 
 
 nine o'clock that morning. By eleven o'clock their 
 excitement had cooled a little. Quite a number of 
 passers-by had stopped to look in at the window, 
 where six of the prettiest hats, and a big bowl of 
 roses, were arranged against a background of care- 
 lessly draped jade green satin, and short black velvet 
 curtains. But no one came in. And when Ann heard 
 two women exclaim: "Aren't those roses perfectly 
 lovely!" she began to wonder for the first time if she 
 had been unduly optimistic. By twelve, however, 
 she had sold her first hat one of her most expen- 
 sive models to a fat old Maori woman in a bright 
 red and blue checked cotton dress. In spite of her 
 disappointment Ann couldn't help laughing. She 
 could imagine nothing more incongruous than the 
 dainty, lace-trimmed straw, perched upon that 
 untidy black head, from which a man's felt hat had 
 been removed. Ann had firmly declined to allow her 
 first customer to "try on" anything. The old Maori 
 nodded good-naturedly: pointed to the pink hat, 
 said: "I have him. How much?" produced three 
 pound notes and three shillings, paid for the hat, 
 put it on her head, and walked out carrying the 
 battered felt which she had refused to allow Ann 
 to wrap up in her hand. 
 
 "Perhaps that means luck," said Mrs. Hill. "Like 
 a black cat." 
 
 "But she wasn't black," objected Ann. "Only 
 brown." 
 
 "She was as near as no-matter black," said Mrs. 
 Hill. 
 
 Neither she nor Ann was wasting time. They 
 were both stitching industriously at straw and rib- 
 bon. Later in the afternoon Mrs. Hill declared that
 
 i6s Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 she had been right. They sold three more hats. But 
 this was so absurdly below Ann's anticipation of "a 
 rush" that when she closed the shop and retired to 
 her own room to boil her kettle for "tea," she felt 
 more than a little disheartened. However, after she 
 had disposed of her solitary meal, she resolved to go 
 for a walk. Fresh air and exercise would help her 
 to regain her courage. After all, if she only sold nine 
 hats a week she would be paying her overhead ex- 
 penses and living, meagerly no doubt, but still living. 
 The trouble was that at the moment Ann didn't 
 really much care whether she lived or not. 
 
 She walked down the deserted street and crossed 
 the river, making her way out of the town towards 
 the encircling hills, clear in outline now against the 
 sunset sky. Comfortable looking wooden houses with 
 creeper-hung verandas, standing in bright-flowered 
 gardens, lay on either side of the road. On some of 
 the lawns white-frocked girls and young men in flan- 
 nels were playing tennis. Ann heard their voices and 
 their laughter as she passed by. She was unutterably 
 lonely, and not a little sorry for herself; but she knew 
 that self-pity is the refuge of the weak, and she de- 
 termined not to indulge in it. After all, what had she 
 to endure compared to the suffering which poor Dick 
 Holmes had been called upon to undergo? If he had 
 courage enough to face the shipwreck of all his hopes, 
 surely she, who had no more to lament than the 
 awakening from a foolish romantic dream, could try 
 at least to live up to the epithet both he and Rodney 
 had applied to her. She would be a "good plucked 
 'un." She would! So after an hour's quick walking, 
 she returned to her deserted shop, turned on the
 
 The Hat Shop 163 
 
 light in her room, and busied herself with addressing 
 dozens of circulars, before she settled down again to 
 the everlasting twisting of ribbon and the adjustment 
 of lace and flowers.
 
 X 
 
 Smoke Without Fire 
 
 i. 
 
 DURING the whole of the next week Ann sold only 
 four hats, and was already beginning to question the 
 wisdom of her venture. Her visions of a large and 
 lucrative business were fading. Apparently money 
 was no more to be her portion than love. At this rate 
 she would be forced to retire from business at the 
 end of the six months, and seek a position once more 
 as governess or as lady-help. 
 
 But a few days before the Wairiri Jockey Club 
 Meeting customers began to drift in. And Ann found 
 that she was a good saleswoman. The old adage as to 
 honesty being the best policy was true as far as this 
 business was concerned. Ann would never tell a hesi- 
 tating purchaser that the hat she was trying on suited 
 her, if Ann herself was convinced it did not. She lost 
 one or two sales in this way, but she gained far more 
 than she lost. She had an eye for line and color. 
 Knew the sort of hat which was most becoming to 
 the wearer; and gradually her judgment was recog- 
 nized. 
 
 "Go to Ann!" women said to one another. "She 
 never tries to make you buy, but she knows what 
 suits you and she can bend or push a hat brim just 
 
 164
 
 Smoke without Fire 165 
 
 to the right angle. She has the sweetest things. Not 
 frightfully cheap, but not really expensive." 
 
 And so the friend advised usually "went to Ann." 
 In fact, before the race meeting Ann's stock was prac- 
 tically sold out. All the shops in the town closed early 
 for the first day's racing; and behind her locked door 
 Ann and Mrs. Hill sat manufacturing a further sup- 
 ply of hats, from an early hour in the morning until 
 after ten at night. That week-end Ann sent a letter- 
 cable to her stepmother, asking her to despatch a few 
 models from "Flora," and a quantity of material 
 of all kinds, immediately. Her stepmother adored 
 picking up bargains at the sales they'd still be on 
 in London and she knew all about "Flora," the 
 establishment where Ann had studied millinery. Ann 
 sent money by cable, and knew that even with the 
 cost of the despatch, she would be saving a consider- 
 able sum in this way, as well as procuring something 
 quite different to anything she could purchase in 
 Wairiri. It would be six or seven weeks before the 
 things arrived, but they would be winter goods, and 
 in time for the winter season here. 
 
 For the Turf Club Meeting in February there was 
 not such a rush of customers; and this Ann felt was 
 rather fortunate, for to tell the truth both she and 
 Mrs. Hill had been working at great pressure ever 
 since the preparations for the shop had been begun. 
 
 They had taken over one hundred and twelve 
 pounds in cash Ann had no book debts for their 
 first month's trading. With rent, wages, and materials 
 she had spent barely seventy. Her personal living 
 expenses were trifling, so that in four weeks she had 
 almost paid for the initial outlay of fitting up her 
 room and starting her business.
 
 166 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ann realized that she must not count on such good 
 results during the next month or two; but she had 
 secured an excellent circle of customers, and had 
 no doubts as to the future. 
 
 All business premises would be closed as usual 
 from 11:30 A.M. for the Turf Club races no one in 
 Wairiri thought of working on race days and when 
 Mrs. Ralston invited Ann to go out with them in 
 their car, the newly-established milliner was very 
 pleased to accept the invitation. 
 
 Her establishment, like the others, would be shut, 
 and she would have the whole day on her hands. 
 
 So on the morning of the Turf Club Meeting, she 
 put on her prettiest summer frock, and a special and 
 most becoming "model," and made her way down to 
 the Imperial to join the Ralstons. Motor cars full of 
 gayly dressed women were speeding through the 
 streets; motor lorries with seats roughly arranged, and 
 placarded with printed posters: "To the race course 
 and back, 35. 6d.", were proceeding more slowly in 
 order to pick up intending passengers; boys were 
 shouting at street corners: "Card of the races one 
 shilling"; and there was a general air of gayety and 
 expectancy about the passers-by. The wide roadway 
 lay hot in the brilliant glare of the morning sunshine, 
 under a clear blue sky. Ann, walking along the 
 veranda-covered pavement, past the line of closed, 
 or closing shops, was glad to think she wore a wide 
 hat, and carried a parasol. It would probably be 
 about 90 degrees in the shade out at the racecourse. 
 She was looking forward to a cheery, pleasantly excit- 
 ing day after the grind of her hard work; and for the 
 moment her heart-ache was forgotten. Then sud- 
 denly, with a rush it all came back, for advancing
 
 Smoke without Fire 167 
 
 towards her along the pavement, was Rodney Marsh! 
 She could not tell whether it was pain or joy of 
 which she was more vividly aware. Past pain of mem- 
 ory, and present joy in seeing him again, were 
 queerly intermingled. Would he stop and speak to 
 her? Or with cool nods, would they pass by? Slowly 
 they drew near to one another, and Rodney's eyes 
 were fixed upon her. Simultaneously they halted 
 Marsh's old felt hat was lifted, and then they were 
 standing face to face. 
 
 "You're off to the races I suppose," he remarked, 
 with an elaborate casualness. 
 
 "Yes, with the Ralstons," answered Ann equally 
 casual. 
 
 They might have been two rather bored acquaint- 
 ances meeting for a moment to exchange remarks 
 about the weather. 
 
 "Is your leg all right again now?" 
 
 "Ai." 
 
 Ann longed to know what he was doing if he were 
 still at Tirau, or not. 
 
 "How's Mr. Holmes?" she asked. 
 
 His face flushed a little. Her question brought 
 back too vividly that last scene between them. But 
 in Ann's mind innocent of any thought of wrong in 
 connection with Holmes and herself that incident 
 appeared so trivial in comparison with the moment 
 when Rodney told her that he did not want her to be 
 his wife, that it was almost forgotten. 
 
 "He's getting on all right, I think. I'm droving 
 now. On my own." 
 
 "You left him?" 
 
 "The bank cut down expenses on the place. I'd
 
 i68 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 have stayed on for less money, but the boss thought 
 I shouldn't do that." 
 
 All was well again between them then, Ann re- 
 flected; and she was glad. 
 
 She wondered if Rodney would apologize now for 
 what he had said that morning. No, he wasn't likely 
 to do that. It was difficult almost impossible for 
 him to admit, in so many words, that he was ever in 
 the wrong. Stubborn and pig-headed, that's what he 
 was, Ann reflected; and yet, in spite of everything, 
 how dear! As he stood before her in his old dusty 
 riding clothes, she knew that even though she might 
 some day be married to another man, just the name 
 of Rodney would make her heart leap in her breast, 
 as it had done this morning when she first caught 
 sight of him. 
 
 But if in words he couldn't express regret for his 
 past conduct, his queer brusque manner his awk- 
 ward greeting was an index to his thought. 
 
 "Got a race card?" he asked. 
 
 Ann shook her head. He pulled one out of his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Take mine." 
 
 "You'll want it." 
 
 "I can get another easy enough." 
 
 "But you've marked this." 
 
 "Yes. If you want to know what I'm going to 
 back, they're there use the tips yourself if you like- 
 but don't give them away. Of course they mayn't be 
 any good they're only my fancy." 
 
 "Thank you so much." 
 
 They stood there facing one another, conversation 
 at an end.
 
 Smoke without Fire 169 
 
 "I'll probably see you on the course," said Ann at 
 last. 
 
 "I don't expect so. You'll be with a different crowd 
 to me." 
 
 She had no reply to make to that, and she couldn't 
 stay here much longer. She might be keeping the 
 Ralstons waiting. 
 
 After another moment she said good-by, and 
 crossed over to the Imperial Hotel. 
 
 2. 
 
 On the racecourse Ann was enjoying something of 
 a succes fou. Her prettiness and gayety were attrac- 
 tive to men and women alike. But with the latter 
 who were for the most part very warm-hearted and 
 hospitable to strangers the novelty of her enterprise, 
 and the authoritative position she now held in 
 Wairiri as the supreme arbiter of fashion, created an 
 added interest. Though quite unaware of it herself, 
 Ann had charm. Not only the charm of an attractive 
 appearance, but the charm of an un-self-centered na- 
 ture. She was neither gushing, nor shy, but perfectly 
 natural, and quite frankly interested in her fellow 
 creatures. 
 
 The Wairiri Turf Club Meeting, Ann found, was 
 very much like the first one she had attended, but 
 bigger, gayer, and more sophisticated. A brass band 
 played on the green turf of the lawn amongst the 
 flower beds; the dresses in the grand stand were de- 
 cidedly more elaborate than those worn at Omoana; 
 the totalisator was much larger; and the entries for 
 the races more numerous. But, as at Omoana, lunch- 
 eon was a huge picnic shared by the visitors from the
 
 170 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 coast and their Wairiri friends. They gathered under 
 the shady willows at the back of the stand after the 
 second race hampers were brought out from the cars, 
 and everybody was very gay and very jolly. Ann, 
 being young and of a naturally happy disposition, 
 couldn't help enjoying herself. Rodney was on the 
 course. She had caught sight of him in the distance, 
 and perhaps though she would not admit this to 
 herself the thought that she might see and speak 
 to him again before the afternoon was over enhanced 
 the radiance of the day. But as the shadows length- 
 ened, and still he did not seek her out, her spirits 
 drooped a little. What was the use of going on think- 
 ing in this silly sentimental fashion of a man who 
 had plainly told her that his affection for her was not 
 a serious or a lasting one? Yet how could she help 
 thinking of him, she mentally defended herself, see- 
 ing that she held his race card in her hands, and by 
 steadily following his tips was amassing quite a little 
 fortune? And her feeling was not that of a stupidly 
 romantic schoolgirl. With a quick surge of passionate 
 resentment she found herself wishing that it were 
 that it might be the ephemeral, unreal fancy of the 
 jeune fille, instead of this sure and bitter realization 
 that Rodney Marsh was the only man she would ever 
 love in quite this way with every fiber of her being. 
 Her thoughts continually hovered about him. Whom 
 was he with? Had he followed the tips he had given 
 her? and if so how much had he won today? She 
 herself had only invested one pound on each race, 
 and after the sixth event found that she had backed 
 four winners and an outsider, who paid a big divi- 
 dend for second place. 
 
 "How on earth do you do it?" asked Mrs. Ralston.
 
 Smoke without Fire 171 
 
 "It's uncanny. You won at Omoana too, didn't you? 
 And you say you don't know anything about racing." 
 
 "Beginner's luck, I suppose," answered Ann, who 
 was already nearly forty pounds to the good on the 
 day. 
 
 It was just before they had afternoon tea, beside 
 the cars under the willows, that Ann came face to 
 face with Dick Holmes. 
 
 "What in the world are you doing here?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I came to find you," he answered. 
 
 Nell Brunton, with whom Ann was walking, 
 moved on to another group of friends, and Holmes 
 and Ann were left together. 
 
 "Stroll down to the rails there overlooking the 
 course," he said. 
 
 She moved beside him across the lawn, a little 
 startled by his appearance, and his tone. That some- 
 thing had happened to disturb him was very evident. 
 But when they reached the rails he was still silent. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Ann. 
 
 "I came down this morning from Tirau, and went 
 to your shop, but it was closed. They told me at the 
 Imperial that you were here. I'm still a member of 
 the Turf Club and I ... got a lift out to the course." 
 
 "You've had news?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Nothing has happened to ... to Mrs. Holmes?" 
 
 He gave a sudden, rather bitter laugh. 
 
 "As far as I know she's all right." 
 
 "The children . . . ?" 
 
 "They're as fit as fiddles." 
 
 "There's something else?" 
 
 He nodded.
 
 172 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Is it important that I should know what it is?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She waited for him to continue, but at last he 
 said: 
 
 "I can't tell you here. It's too . . . too difficult. Can 
 I see you somewhere this evening?" 
 
 "Come round to my rooms." 
 
 "About eight- thirty?" 
 
 "Yes that'll be all right." 
 
 "Have you had any tea?" 
 
 "I was just going with Nell Brunton to the Ral- 
 stons' car." 
 
 "I'll come with you." 
 
 They moved back across the lawn, and steered 
 their way through the shifting crowd towards the 
 rear of the stand. Scraps of conversation came to 
 Ann, and once, wedged behind a small group of 
 smartly dressed women who had formed part of the 
 luncheon picnic, Ann heard the discussion of a pend- 
 ing divorce case whose she didn't know. 
 
 "Phil is in Miller's office he saw the divorce 
 papers citation he called it. She's mentioned, I tell 
 you, as co-respondent." 
 
 "I don't believe it." 
 
 "It's true. Phil told me today. I know they've often 
 been together. I was with Nell one morning and saw 
 him coming away from her place." 
 
 Ann and Holmes at last reached the parked cars, 
 and the unpacked tea-hampers; and here Holmes was 
 greeted with some surprise, but with decided cordial- 
 ity by all the men, and most of the women. The fact 
 of a farmer's failure in the Wairiri district had 
 always the effect of arousing the ready sympathy of 
 his more fortunate friends.
 
 Smoke without Fire 173 
 
 And yet Ann fancied that she herself was not as 
 warmly welcomed by the women as she had been 
 earlier in the day. Why was that? Had her facility 
 for picking winners annoyed them? Or did they dis- 
 approve of her appearing amongst them all, accom- 
 panied by a married man whose wife was spending 
 a holiday in Australia? Ann told herself that this 
 attitude on their part would be absurd. One wasn't 
 compromised so easily by chatting in a friendly 
 fashion to married men. But suddenly back to her 
 mind came the memory of Mrs. Pratt's indignant 
 departure from Tirau. Was it possible that such a 
 silly story could have suddenly gained credence 
 amongst the Wairiri women? Ridiculous! They had 
 too much common sense. She dismissed the idea, and 
 told herself that she was becoming self-conscious, 
 and imagining herself slighted because she wasn't 
 again treated as the "star turn" of the party. "Won- 
 derful how quickly one's head can swell," she re- 
 flected, with a little smile at her own expense. 
 
 So after tea, she strolled again with Holmes down 
 towards the totalisator, to make her seventh invest- 
 ment. He talked of the children, whom he had seen 
 for a short time that afternoon, and who appeared to 
 be quite happy and contented with Mrs. Marley; 
 mentioned current matters connected with Tirau; 
 and remarked that he had received a very decent 
 letter from Waring offering to help him financially. 
 Ann glanced at him quickly as he said this. No, she 
 decided, there was still no suspicion in his mind with 
 regard to Vera and his friend. What was it then that 
 was troubling him? But she would not ask him. He 
 had told her that he wished to defer his explanation, 
 and she would wait until the evening. Standing to-
 
 174 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 gether in front of the totalisator, watching the crowd 
 pressing in to the ticket offices, the numbers altering 
 quickly as the money was rung on the different 
 horses, she heard Holmes say: 
 
 "Hallo, Rodney! How are things going with you?" 
 
 Ann turned quickly. She was convinced that 
 Marsh had already seen her, but he avoided looking 
 at her directly. He nodded curtly to Holmes: 
 
 "Well enough," he answered, and moved away. 
 
 Holmes remained gazing after him in a slightly 
 puzzled fashion. It was evident that he was a trifle 
 nonplussed by the young man's abrupt departure. 
 
 "Rodney's in a hurry to get his money on," he re- 
 marked. "Let's go back to the stand." 
 
 On the lawn the band was playing "The London- 
 derry Air," as Holmes and Ann made their way up 
 the wooden steps of the grand stand. The wide circle 
 of the hills beyond the course was already hazed and 
 purple in the mellowing afternoon sunshine; and in 
 the midst of the gay crowd Ann felt suddenly the 
 sadness of departing day, and the eternal solitariness 
 of the human soul. Nothing ever bridged that gulf 
 between one's inner self and the outer world. Love 
 could help. Love between man and woman. That 
 in its highest expression could enable one to reach a 
 little beyond the narrow limits of one's own per- 
 sonalityto become to some extent merged with 
 another's soul and spirit. For the rest the excitement 
 of pleasure the amusement of this day, for instance 
 the races, winning money, dressing up what were 
 they all but games that children play? Something to 
 pass the time before the darkness came. They weren't 
 realities only the things of the spirit were real. 
 Truth, affection, loyalty. And love must combine all
 
 Smoke without Fire w 
 
 those or it was worthless. So Ann sat still 
 by Dick Holmes's side while the seventh race was 
 run. She won once more, but somehow the excite- 
 ment of collecting dividends had lost its savor. She 
 would not see Rodney again this afternoon she felt 
 convinced. And of what use was it to see him? Better 
 try to put all thought of him for ever out of her 
 heart. She had lost interest in the day, and did not 
 even trouble to invest her usual pound on the eighth 
 and last race. But even here her luck held; for the 
 horse which Rodney had tipped finished nowhere. 
 The band played "God Save the King," and put away 
 their instruments; and the Ralstons and their friends, 
 together with all the race-goers, prepared to make 
 for home. 
 
 Ann, busy with her own sad thoughts during the 
 drive home, did not notice that the Ralstons and 
 Nell Brunton were equally disinclined for conversa- 
 tion. But when they put her out at the corner of her 
 own block, her warm little speech of thanks to them 
 for their kindness in taking her seemed to meet with 
 no very enthusiastic reply. As they drove off Ann 
 suddenly realized that her popularity had been ex- 
 ceedingly short-lived. For some reason the Ralstons 
 were not as friendly at the end of the day as they had 
 been at the beginning. 
 
 3- 
 
 She changed her frock, then made herself a cup of 
 tea, and nibbled a small slice of bread and butter. 
 She had no appetite for dinner, and decided to wait 
 quietly in her room until Dick Holmes arrived. 
 
 What was it he wished to say? If gossip concerning
 
 176 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 her had been started by Mrs. Pratt, probably it was 
 that which was upsetting him. But surely these idle 
 rumors of scandal were not of sufficient importance 
 to bring him forty miles down the coast from Tirau? 
 
 Continually her thoughts turned back to Rodney 
 Marsh, and each time as she realized this she reso- 
 lutely forced her mind to the contemplation of her 
 work her future plans. The little love dream was at 
 an end; and it was far better that it should be so; she 
 told herself that a marriage of this sort might very 
 easily end in disaster, and yet her heart cried out 
 against this conventional pronouncement. Was life 
 to be lived solely by the light of practical common 
 sense? Was every situation that was difficult to be 
 evaded? Must one never hazard anything? Never take 
 the chance of a fall? Surely that would rule out all 
 adventure all romance. 
 
 Again she pulled herself up sharply. As Rodney 
 Marsh had no intention of asking her to be his wife, 
 these reflections were superfluous. Marriage wasn't 
 for her she would be a successful business woman, 
 leading a busy, independent life, and finding happi- 
 ness in her work, her friendships, and her books. 
 
 She gave a quick little sigh, and glanced at her 
 watch. Nearly eight o'clock! Dick Holmes should be 
 here directly and as the thought came to her a 
 knock sounded at the outer door. 
 
 She passed through the shop to answer it, and 
 found outside, not Holmes, but a boy with a note. 
 "Mr. Holmes told me to bring it to you," he said, and 
 the next moment he was gone. 
 
 In the twilight of her showroom, Ann tore open 
 the envelope:
 
 Smoke without Fire 177 
 
 "DEAR Miss MERRILL/' she read, 
 
 "After I left you this afternoon it struck me that 
 it would be unwise, under the circumstances, for 
 me to call on you this evening. Perhaps, too, 
 there's an undercurrent of cowardice in my mind. 
 It's easier to tell you in a letter what I have to than 
 to say it directly. It's so damned horrible. When I 
 think of your sweetness and your kindness to me 
 that last night at Tirau, the thought that you 
 should suffer for it in this way makes me wish 
 you'd never taken that revolver out of my hand. 
 I can't see any way out now to save you from a 
 situation that's infernally unfair and unjust. I've 
 already written to Vera, and told her the whole 
 truth of the affair. But it passes my comprehension 
 how she could ever have believed such a thing of 
 you or of me. It isn't as though you were a stranger 
 to her. She knew you well enough to be quite cer- 
 tain that you were as straight as any girl who ever 
 lived. I don't even know her address in Sydney, 
 but I've sent the letter c/o Frank Miller, the 
 Wairiri solicitor, whom she's instructed to take 
 proceedings. After she gets my letter, I don't think 
 she can possibly go on with the case. But all the 
 same you'd better see Ford tomorrow and act on 
 his advice. He isn't my lawyer, but he's a very old 
 friend, and will do all he can for you. 
 
 "This thing that I've been trying to tell you is 
 that Vera is suing me for divorce, and has named 
 you as co-respondent. In some way it must have 
 got out that you were with me in my room that last 
 night at Tirau and, the world being what it is, 
 the inference is not that you were an angel of 
 mercy and of pity then one of the pluckiest and
 
 178 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 sweetest little girls God ever made but something 
 different. Well, I suppose it's natural to think the 
 worst and not the best of human nature. But it's so 
 damned disgusting that your unselfish kindness 
 should have brought this on your head that when 
 I think of it I can't go on writing. The words I 
 want to use aren't fit for you to read. Ford told me 
 this evening that it would be better for me not to 
 see you at all at present; and better that you 
 shouldn't go to my solicitor. Ford is a good chap 
 and if you go to see him tomorrow his office is in 
 Field's Buildings in Wells Street he'll tell you 
 what to do. 
 
 "I'm leaving for Tirau by the service car at 
 seven in the morning. To think that it's through 
 me your name should be dragged in the mud like 
 this makes me feel no, I can't tell you what I feel 
 it's beyond telling. It doesn't seem possible that 
 the case will ever come into Court. But in a place 
 like Wairiri, rumors of it are sure to get about, and 
 it's bound to injure you. When I think of that- 
 well shooting myself now wouldn't do any good 
 I'd only make matters worse. And I gave you my 
 promise too about that. I'm not good at expressing 
 my thoughts, but that night to me you were like 
 my mother and my child and the Virgin Mary. 
 "God bless you, dear little Ann, 
 
 "RICHARD HOLMES." 
 
 Ann read this letter through to the end, standing 
 near the window in the fading light. Then she drew 
 the curtains, switched on the electric light, and pull- 
 ing her chair up to one of the tables, pushed the hat 
 stands n one side, laid the closely covered sheet of
 
 Smoke without Fire 179 
 
 paper out before her, and read it through again. She 
 knew now the reason for the slight coolness shown to 
 her by the Ralstons, and some of the other race-goers, 
 that afternoon; knew that the divorce case she had 
 heard discussed was this one that the co-respondent 
 mentioned was herself. Scandal in Wairiri was like a 
 bush fire after a dry, hot summer it spread as 
 quickly. Well, even if the case never came into the 
 Court and it was impossible to believe that there 
 was the remotest chance of its doing so, still, the mere 
 fact of her having been cited in the case might handi- 
 cap her newly-started business. As far as her personal 
 reputation was concerned, she did not care so much. 
 If people could believe that of her after they had 
 heard the true story, they weren't worth considering. 
 After all, she had no real friends to lose in Wairiri. 
 Yet, suddenly realizing what the case might mean to 
 her if by some unthinkable chance it did reach the 
 Court, she saw herself in the witness-box being asked 
 horrible, intimate questions saw the eager sightseers 
 in the gallery! Heard the badgering cross-examina- 
 tion! 
 
 Ann buried her face in her hands. How could she 
 ever find courage enough to carry her through such 
 an ordeal? For a moment she sat quite still. Then the 
 wave of crimson which had surged up into her pale 
 face receded, leaving her whiter than before. She 
 must write to Vera at once. It wasn't possible that 
 Vera could bring this case. She knew the charge was 
 false! 
 
 Even now Ann's predominant feeling was not so 
 much pity for herself, as pity for Dick Holmes. To be 
 aware that he had unwittingly brought trouble on a 
 friend would mean to Holmes very real sOffering.
 
 i8o Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Oh, Vera couldn't be so cruel as to do this thing she 
 couldn't! 
 
 Ann rose and crossed to the writing-table in the 
 corner she wouldn't lose a minute she'd write at 
 once! 
 
 But as she pulled out notepaper and envelopes, 
 again the knocker sounded. Had Holmes changed his 
 mind and come to see her after all? She hoped that 
 he had not, for what had they to say to one another? 
 He had told her everything in his letter. 
 
 She moved across the room, and into the narrow 
 passage at the entrance. Throwing open the door she 
 saw, not Holmes, but Rodney Marsh standing on the 
 pavement. 
 
 "Are you alone?" he asked. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "I want to talk to you." 
 
 "Come in then." 
 
 She closed the outer door, and he followed her 
 back into her showroom. He had taken off his hat; 
 and his rumpled hair, and something in his eyes a 
 wild, strained look accentuated the untamed air, 
 which in her first vision of him had been so apparent. 
 
 "Have you been drinking?" she asked. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No," he answered. "Perhaps I shall . . . later. I 
 had to see you first." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 He came close to her, where she stood by the table 
 under the light. 
 
 "They're saying things coupling your name with 
 Holmes." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Tell me it isn't true what they're saying."
 
 Smoke without Fire 181 
 
 "Why should I tell you anything? What business is 
 it of yours?" 
 
 He sat down suddenly, and putting his elbows on 
 the table, buried his face in his hands. 
 
 "I'm in hell," he said. 
 
 "Then it's a hell of your own making." 
 
 He made no reply, and after a moment Ann sat 
 down at the other side of the table opposite to 
 him. 
 
 "Rodney," she said quietly, "we'd better have this 
 out, once and for all. You've said that you love me, 
 but you don't love me well enough to want me as 
 your wife. Well, you've been honest at least, and I'll 
 try to be honest with you to tell you everything that 
 is in my heart." 
 
 "Tell me that what they say isn't true." 
 
 "What do they say?" 
 
 "That Mrs. Holmes is bringing a case for divorce 
 against the boss and . . . you." 
 
 "That is quite true." 
 
 He looked up at her for one moment with wild 
 and haggard eyes. Then his face dropped into his 
 hands again. 
 
 "So it's too late now, anyhow," he muttered. 
 
 "Too late for what?" 
 
 He was silent and she went on: 
 
 "Do you mean it's too late for you to ask me to 
 marry you?" Again he did not answer, and she 
 continued steadily: "Why should you think that I 
 would accept your proposal? What have you to offer 
 me? Is it a very exalted position to be the wife of a 
 drover?" 
 
 "I'm not going to be a drover always. If I made
 
 182 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 up my mind to it, I could have my own place. I won 
 more today than I won at Omoana." 
 
 "And you'll probably gamble it away again," she 
 returned contemptuously. "Money got like that isn't 
 often kept. It's only the money earned by hard work 
 that's much use." 
 
 "Who says I can't work hard?" 
 
 "We're getting away from the point. It isn't a 
 question of money that wouldn't count much with 
 me in marriage but do you think I should be mak- 
 ing a very brilliant match in marrying you?" 
 
 "I'm not good enough?" 
 
 "I don't know about not being good enough, but 
 you've been brought up with a different standard of 
 life and education." 
 
 "If you loved me, that wouldn't matter." 
 
 "I think it would make life together difficult." 
 
 "Are you going to marry the boss after the di- 
 vorce?" he asked fiercely. 
 
 "As far as I know, I'm not going to marry at all. 
 Two men men who have far more in the way of 
 worldly possessions than you are ever likely to have, 
 men more accustomed to the world in which I've 
 been brought up have asked me to marry them in 
 the last six months. I refused them both." 
 
 "Would either of them ask you again after . . . 
 this?" 
 
 "Yes, I think both of them would if they thought 
 there was any chance of my accepting them. At any 
 rate, they would have sense enough to believe that 
 I was innocent of what you seem to imagine is true." 
 
 "You've told me that it is." 
 
 "I've told you that Mrs. Holmes is bringing an 
 action for divorce."
 
 Smoke without Fire 183 
 
 "She must have grounds for that, mustn't she?" 
 
 "She may believe she has grounds for it." She 
 paused for a moment. "And would you never forgive 
 a woman for a ... a fault a sin if you like of that 
 sort? Has your life been altogether free from . . . from 
 any moments of ... of passion?" 
 
 "A man and a woman are different." 
 
 "You're mistaken," she answered swiftly. "A 
 woman has her temptations as well as a man. They 
 may not be as many or as frequent the penalty for 
 giving way is greater. That is a safeguard in many 
 cases. But a woman is as likely to be swept away by 
 physical feelings as a man she's only a human being 
 just as he is. I've known one man who might have 
 . . . have influenced me in this way, though I had no 
 affection, no real admiration for him." 
 
 "You're making it worse." 
 
 "I'm trying to be honest. Because I know that 
 about myself, I'm at least more charitable to other 
 women. And I'd want the man I married not to have 
 one standard of morality for himself, and another for 
 me." 
 
 "Are you making excuses for yourself?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No, there's no need. I haven't been guilty of 
 this . . . this sort of error. I mean to remain what 
 men call . . . straight." 
 
 "But you've admitted " 
 
 "I've admitted nothing beyond the fact that Mrs. 
 Holmes is bringing this action. She is ... mistaken, 
 that's all." 
 
 "That night at Tirau " 
 
 "I went into Mr. Holmes's room because I saw his 
 shadow on the blind, and he held a revolver in
 
 184 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 his hand. He meant to kill himself. I stopped him. 
 I hadn't the faintest thought in my mind of any con- 
 sequences to myself. Even if that thought had come 
 to me, I'd have acted in the same way. He was in 
 great trouble in desperate need of help. I did what 
 I could that's all. Read this." 
 
 She handed him the letter she had just received, 
 and in silence Rodney Marsh read it from beginning 
 to end. 
 
 "At any rate, it shows he loves you," he said at last. 
 
 "I hope he does, for I love him." 
 
 He looked up at her again with scowling, jealous 
 brows. 
 
 "No, not in the way you seem to think," she went 
 on. "My love for him is like the affection which I 
 think he has for me. It has nothing in it which one 
 may not rightly feel for the husband of another 
 woman." 
 
 There was a long silence between them, and at last 
 he rose. 
 
 "Are you going to stay on here in Wairiri?" 
 
 "Certainly. Why not? There's no reason for me to 
 run away." 
 
 She had risen too, and now moved slowly towards 
 the door beside him. 
 
 "You were going to be honest with me, to tell me 
 everything in your heart," he said abruptly. 
 
 "I've tried to be honest." 
 
 "Do you . . . love me?" 
 
 "You've no right to ask me that." 
 
 He turned suddenly, and with a queer, inarticulate 
 sound that was almost a groan took her in his arms, 
 holding her closely as he pressed his face down 
 against her smooth white neck. For a few seconds
 
 Smoke without Fire 185 
 
 they stood immovable, then without a word Ann put 
 her two hands against his breast, and stepped back. 
 His grip relaxed, and his hands released her. 
 
 "Very well, I will be honest," she said quietly. 
 "Many times before you made it plain to me that you 
 did not want me, I debated in my mind the . . . the 
 question of marriage with you. You aren't the sort 
 of man I should willingly have chosen to ... love. 
 Class consciousness is a stupid overworked phrase, 
 and yet we're all class conscious we can't help it. 
 There are little differences between us between you 
 and me. They might be quite enough to wreck our 
 happiness I don't know. We should each need to be 
 patient with the other. And I think we neither of us 
 are very patient. You are self-willed, and though 
 you're ignorant in many ways, that doesn't diminish 
 your pride and arrogance." 
 
 "Haven't you any faults?" 
 
 "Very many, but they aren't quite the same as 
 yours, and therefore I might not be tolerant enough 
 with you. And yet I made up my mind that if you 
 wanted me ... to be your wife, I'd say yes, be- 
 cause" she hesitated for a moment and then went on 
 bravely "I think I could have learnt to love you 
 more than I could ever love another man." 
 
 He made a movement as though to take her in his 
 arms again, but she held up her hand. 
 
 "No, you're not to do that any more. Even now, 
 though you want me, marriage seems a tie a bond- 
 age to you. I wouldn't marry any man who felt like 
 that, for there's no bondage in marriage if people 
 are truly mated. You show me that we shouldn't be." 
 
 She opened the outer door, and he moved slowly 
 towards it. In the entrance he turned once more.
 
 i86 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 She thought he meant to speak, but no words came. 
 Then, after a pause, with a brief "good night," he 
 passed out on to the dimly-lighted pavement. 
 
 So that was over! Ann came back into the show- 
 room, and took up Dick Holmes's letter which lay 
 open on the table amongst the disordered hat-stands. 
 
 She was very tired. The scene with Rodney seemed 
 to have bereft her of all vitality. But she went back 
 to her writing-table to begin her letter to Vera 
 Holmes. For a long time she sat gazing down at the 
 blank sheet of paper before her. How difficult to 
 express in words all that she wished to say! It was 
 true, as she had told Rodney, that she was not un- 
 charitable in her thoughts of other women. Young 
 as she was, she realized the latent power of passion in 
 herself, and though she turned with a sense of sick 
 distaste from the contemplation of Vera's secret, yet 
 she understood a little the strength of the temptation 
 to which the older woman had yielded in beginning 
 this intrigue with Gerald Waring. Vera had not mar- 
 ried the right man. She needed a strong, ruthlessly 
 masculine mate to dominate, and hold her. Holmes 
 was too sensitive and self-effacing to interest her for 
 long. His finer qualities the gentle consideration 
 for others she had unconsciously grown to despise as 
 weakness. But though she recognized this, Ann still 
 was of stern enough stuff to hate the sin of disloyalty 
 of which Vera had been guilty. Disloyalty, not only 
 to her husband, but to her children, and in a lesser 
 degree to Ann herself. To hurt others to betray 
 them that seemed to Ann the essence of immorality.
 
 Smoke without Fire 187 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Holmes," she began, and then sat 
 again for a long time with her pen poised above the 
 paper. Well, her letter might be muddled her mean- 
 ing not clearly expressed but she must do the best 
 she could, and so she continued: 
 
 "Mr. Holmes has written to me to say that you 
 are bringing an action for divorce against him, and 
 that you are using my name in order to try 
 and obtain your freedom. I don't for a moment 
 think that you believe this of me, or of him. You 
 know he would never be unfaithful to you; but 
 you have heard that I was in his room with him 
 the night after you left Tirau, and your quick 
 brain has seized on this as a possible solution for 
 yourself. I know you want your freedom, and I 
 know why you want it. But can you be cruel 
 enough to sacrifice me, whom you professed to 
 like and I believe you really did care for me 
 to gain your own ends? I'm not attempting to 
 judge you for the wrong you personally have done 
 to your husband. The last time Mr. Waring stayed 
 at Tirau, I went up after midnight for a book to 
 the schoolroom. I was only there a second, but 
 it was long enough for me to realize that weeks 
 before I'd been a foolish dupe so concerned and 
 anxious for your safety when I met you walking 
 in the dawn. Yet even now when I remember it, I 
 know that you were very unhappy that night, and 
 I'm sorry for you again, as I was then. 
 
 "You want your freedom in order to marry 
 Gerald Waring. When you have got that freedom, 
 are you quite certain that he will marry you? He 
 asked me to be his wife before he left Tirau, and
 
 i88 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 I refused. But he told me to write to him if I were 
 likely to change my mind. Please don't misunder- 
 stand my motive for telling you this. The fact that 
 I know your secret can make no difference to you, 
 for you are the only person who will ever be aware 
 that I know it. Mr. Holmes himself has no sus- 
 picion of it I'm convinced of that. He looks upon 
 Gerald Waring as his true friend, and he loves you 
 now, and I think always will love you devotedly. 
 I'd rather suffer anything myself than add to the 
 troubles he has to bear. And with regard to 
 the story which I suppose you heard from Mrs. 
 Pratt, of my being in his room, it was because I 
 saw him with a revolver in his hand and knew he 
 meant to kill himself. He'd come to the end of 
 everything facing ruin and you had left him. 
 He was half mad, I think, w r ith grief and worry. 
 If I hadn't been with him that night as innocently 
 as Biddy might have been you would already have 
 had your freedom. Do you regret that? Would you 
 like to feel that his death might be laid at your 
 door? The man who has loved you so dearly for 
 ten years? Oh, I don't think you could wish that! 
 I don't think any one could however wicked. And 
 I don't believe you're wicked. Please, please, Mrs. 
 Holmes, come back to him and to Biddy and Jo. 
 You can't want to leave them for ever. But I sup- 
 pose if you get a divorce the Court will give you 
 the custody of the children, or whatever they call it. 
 And I'm not asking this for myself. I shall loathe 
 being dragged into this case, but I believe I can 
 honestly say that if by suffering as much as I know I 
 shall suffer if this case comes on and I have to de-
 
 Smoke without Fire 189 
 
 fend it I could bring you back to your husband 
 and your children, I'd do it. 
 
 "I'm afraid that's very mixed. My going through 
 the humiliation of the Divorce Court couldn't help 
 to bring you back. What I mean is that I'd suffer 
 an equal humiliation if in this way I could only 
 give Mr. Holmes back some happiness. He's back 
 at Tirau again now as manager, and things may 
 not be so bad as he thought at first they would be. 
 If you could have seen him as I saw him that night 
 your heart would have melted with pity I know it 
 would and although perhaps there was a little 
 truth in what you said that first night, when I 
 arrived at Tirau, about being jealous of me, you 
 grew to be a little fond of me too. And you're so 
 handsome and so fascinating yourself, why need 
 you be jealous of any one? But no beauty and no 
 fascination can revive a love that's dead. Do you 
 think Gerald Waring would marry you? I don't. 
 There's a poem of Kipling's, isn't there, with a 
 line 'When a man is tired there is naught will 
 bind him!'? Oh, please, Mrs. Holmes, don't think 
 this is meant cruelly it isn't. It's just truth. And if 
 he did marry you, it wouldn't mean any happi- 
 ness to you only misery. I don't believe he'd be 
 faithful to any one. But don't think of me in con- 
 nection with him. I don't ever want to see him 
 again. 
 
 "I know this letter is all mixed up and I haven't 
 said what I want to properly, but I'm so terribly 
 tired tonight. Love real love affection and trust 
 and kindness isn't so easy to find in this world. 
 And you've been given all that by your husband. 
 He'd never change towards you. You're all the
 
 190 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 world to him and as you get older, he'll go on lov- 
 ing you just the same; and then there are Biddy 
 and Jo. They're at Mrs. Marley's now, and quite 
 well and happy for the present, I think. Oh, don't 
 go on with the case come back to Tirau won't 
 you? Whatever has happened in the past is over 
 and done with. You'll find happiness, I believe, 
 in the end if you only come back now. I'll hate 
 the case, of course, but it can't do me much real 
 harm I'm not likely to marry now anyhow." 
 
 She stopped, and laid down her pen. When she 
 began again the page was blotted with her tears. 
 
 "I think I ought to put this letter in the waste 
 paper basket, and try and write something more 
 sensible tomorrow. But I can't go over it all 
 again. It'll just have to be posted tonight and take 
 its chance. It's stupid and muddled. You must for- 
 give that. I was always sorry for you because some- 
 how I knew you were unhappy. I'm still sorry 
 for you. I wonder if we'll ever meet again. Some- 
 times I was angry with you at Tirau, but nearly 
 always I knew my anger wouldn't last. It hasn't to- 
 night. It seems to have gone as I've been writing. 
 We're all like children in this world, I think, do- 
 ing wrong and quarreling and hurting one another 
 half the time without knowing why we do it, but 
 I believe God makes allowances for us. He knows 
 that life isn't easy for us, and we don't really want 
 to be bad. 
 
 "Good night I wish when I go to bed tonight, 
 I needn't wake up again. Perhaps that's cowardly,
 
 Smoke without Fire 191 
 
 but I'm not feeling very happy and I'm terribly 
 tired. 
 
 "I don't know how to end this, so will just put 
 
 "ANN MERRILL." 
 
 She pushed the untidy sheets into an envelope, 
 addressed the letter "c/o Frank Miller, Solicitor, 
 Wairiri," and marked it, "Please forward imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Within ten minutes she had dropped it in the post- 
 box at the end of the street, and was back in her own 
 room. 
 
 The little clock on her dressing-table struck two as 
 she fell into bed, utterly spent and exhausted.
 
 XI 
 
 The Fords 
 
 i. 
 
 THROUGHOUT her interview with Mr. Ford, the gray- 
 haired kindly solicitor to whom Holmes had sent her, 
 Ann had managed to preserve what Ford would have 
 called a "stiff upper lip." 
 
 They discussed the case, and the steps she must 
 take to defend the action. Then she rose to go. Her 
 face was very white, and to Ford she suddenly ap- 
 peared an extraordinarily pathetic little figure. 
 
 "It's a damned shame," he said, all at once losing 
 his matter-of-fact, professional manner, and becom- 
 ing entirely human. "Why, you're only a kid. I 
 wonder what I'd have felt like, if this had happened 
 to my daughter Rhoda when she was your age." 
 
 Ann's "stiff upper lip" abruptly crumpled, and she 
 burst into tears. And they were not quiet, ladylike 
 and undisfiguring tears. She covered her twisted face 
 with her handkerchief, and walked to the window so 
 that the man behind her could not see the havoc he 
 had wrought. She was sobbing like a child, and she 
 was bitterly ashamed of the exhibition she was mak- 
 ing of herself. Except for those few tears she had 
 dropped on to the page of Vera's letter, she had not 
 cried until this moment. Well, she was making up 
 for it now! 
 
 19*
 
 The Fords 193 
 
 Ford, a trifle appalled at the result of his warmly- 
 expressed sympathy, stood gazing at her heaving 
 shoulders, and listening to the queerly touching little 
 noises she was making. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," she managed to gasp out at last. 
 "I didn't mean to cry I don't know why I'm mak- 
 ing such a fool of myself. I'd have been all right 
 if you hadn't spoken so ... so kindly. And now I ... I 
 can't stop." 
 
 "Well, don't," said Ford. "Have it out. Forget I'm 
 here." 
 
 She still stood at the window with her back turned 
 to him, sobbing, but struggling for self-control. 
 
 "Do you know," he went on, "I often think that 
 nature's been kinder to women than to men in this 
 respect. There have been many moments in my life 
 when I've wished that tears would come to me. 
 They're an outlet, and a relief. You cry on as long 
 as you like. No one will come into this room, and 
 you're not disturbing me. I shan't take any more 
 notice of you than if you were the office boy asking 
 for a day off to go to his grandmother's funeral." 
 
 And so Ann cried on for a few moments her eyes 
 getting redder and her pretty face more swollen. But 
 gradually the sobbing ceased.* 
 
 "What about a cup of tea? I could get one in half 
 a minute or a whisky and soda?" 
 
 Ann shook her head, smiling a little, pathetic 
 twisted smile as she turned towards him. 
 
 "I'm all right now. Quite all right really I am. 
 You see, I've just started a little hat shop here, and 
 all this . . . this talk may ruin my business. And if I 
 lose my capital, I can't get a job again as governess 
 no one would have me after . . . after this."
 
 194 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Don't you believe your business will suffer. You'll 
 get a good advertisement out of the gossip if there 
 is any." 
 
 But though he spoke with great confidence, he was 
 not really quite convinced that he was speaking the 
 truth. 
 
 "Besides, who is likely to know about it except 
 ourselves, until the case comes on? And I don't be- 
 lieve that Mrs. Holmes will ever bring it into Court." 
 
 "Every one seems to know about it already," re- 
 turned Ann. "Some one in Mr. Miller's office has 
 spread the news." 
 
 "I'd soon fire a clerk of mine who talked outside 
 the office," said Ford, grimly. 
 
 In his heart he was cursing Vera, and resolving that 
 he'd leave no stone unturned to help this poor perse- 
 cuted child. But he had learnt that it was wiser not 
 to give expression to his sympathy; so he continued 
 to talk quite unemotionally about impersonal mat- 
 ters, while Ann wiped her eyes, and dabbed at her 
 nose with her sodden handkerchief. 
 
 "I'll get Mary to call and see her," he was thinking. 
 "Mary'll know what to do better than I can. And if 
 Mary can't stop tongues wagging in Wairiri then no 
 one can." He had unlimited, and not misplaced, 
 confidence in the wisdom of his wife. 
 
 At last Ann felt that she was presentable enough to 
 appear in public, and saying good-by to the lawyer, 
 she walked back to her own block of buildings, 
 where Mrs. Hill sat in the hat shop waiting for her 
 return. 
 
 The day passed without a single customer entering 
 the showroom. Was this the beginning of the end, 
 Ann wondered? Had the rumored scandal already
 
 The Fords 195 
 
 destroyed her chances of success in business? Or was 
 it merely the not altogether unexpected slackness 
 after the rush of buyers for the race meetings? Time 
 alone would prove that. At any rate, she would not 
 anticipate defeat, and so she and Mrs. Hill worked 
 hard all the afternoon, and ignored the dearth of 
 purchasers. 
 
 Her assistant had heard nothing of the impending 
 divorce case, of that Ann felt convinced. And it was a 
 relief to her to know that there was one friend at 
 least who could still eye her without suspicion. 
 "Friend" was a word she had grown accustomed to 
 using now in thinking of Mrs. Hill, her loyal and 
 hard-working co-adjutor. And she wondered, with a 
 little sinking at her heart, if Mrs. Hill would remain 
 so attached to her, and to her interests, if once the 
 seeds of distrust as to her employer's character were 
 sown in her honest heart. Frailty in members of their 
 own sex seemed to be the unforgivable sin in most 
 women's eyes. But perhaps Mrs. Hill might give her 
 the benefit of the doubt. After all Mr. Ford hadn't 
 believed the story. But then he'd known Dick 
 Holmes for years, and wouldn't be likely to listen to 
 any discreditable rumor concerning him. That made 
 a difference. 
 
 Well, Ann could only hope for the best. Surely 
 every one wouldn't take the same view as Mrs. Pratt! 
 Rodney, she knew, did not doubt the truth of what 
 she had told him, but he was insanely jealous, and re- 
 sented the mere fact of Holmes's affectionate regard 
 for her. How could that bitter jealousy exist in his 
 heart when he was still so determined not to ask her 
 to be his wife? That was a problem she could not 
 solve. It was part and parcel of the young drover's
 
 196 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 stubborn self-willed character, and she must accept it 
 as such. However, it was all of no consequence now. 
 Her connection with Marsh, such as it had been, was 
 at an end. They would not meet again, except by 
 chance, and then only as mere acquaintances. And 
 she would not allow her thoughts to turn again in his 
 direction. Of that she was resolved. 
 
 2. 
 
 It was after eleven o'clock, the next morning, when 
 a middle-aged woman came into the shop. This was 
 the first customer Ann had seen for two days, and she 
 rose from the chair where she had been sitting work- 
 ing, and came forward. Today, being Saturday, Mrs. 
 Hill was not in attendance, and Ann was quite alone. 
 
 "Can I show you anything?" she asked. 
 
 "I'm afraid all your pretty hats are rather too 
 young, and gay for me," returned the newcomer, 
 looking round, "and I'm so old-fashioned that I'm 
 not even shingled. No one seems to make hats for old 
 women, nowadays." 
 
 "But no women are old nowadays." 
 
 The customer laughed. She had a very charming 
 laugh. Quite as young and gay as any of the hats, 
 thought Ann. 
 
 "Well, I'm fifty-eight. I don't want to wear the 
 same sort of hat as my granddaughter." 
 
 "Why not, if it suits you?" 
 
 "It wouldn't." 
 
 "Well, try this one on, and see." 
 
 She produced a plain black hat which, though neat 
 and smart, might be worn by a girl, or a woman of 
 more advanced age. The customer eyed it doubtfully.
 
 The Fords 197 
 
 "It might do. It's certainly better than the one my 
 daughter persuaded me to buy a week or two ago in 
 Auckland. She said I looked sixteen in it. I thought 
 I looked an old fool." 
 
 Ann laughed. 
 
 "You couldn't look that, whatever you put on. But 
 I shouldn't like you to go out of my shop wearing 
 something that didn't suit you." 
 
 "Why not, if I pay for it?" 
 
 "It's a bad advertisement for me. I've only had one 
 failure of that sort. It was my first sale!" 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 Ann told the story of the old Maori woman, and 
 her new customer laughed again. As they continued 
 to chat while trying on various hats, Ann wondered 
 who she was. She apparently knew most of Ann's 
 clients very well, but she had not been at the Turf 
 Club Race Meeting, and had never been into the 
 shop before. At last a hat was decided upon which 
 Ann and the purchaser decided was both suitable and 
 becoming. Then she told Ann her name. 
 
 "I'm Mrs. Ford," she said. "I wanted to meet you 
 because my husband spoke to me about you last 
 night." 
 
 She did not tell Ann what had actually transpired 
 between them. Ford had said: 
 
 "Go and see the poor child for yourself. Look at 
 her honest eyes, and tell me if you think she's the sort 
 of girl who's likely to be guilty of a sordid intrigue 
 of this sort. I'll take my oath she isn't, but you've 
 often told me your judgment's better than mine with 
 regard to women." 
 
 "Of course it is. You're no exception to the rule, 
 my dear old stupid. Every man says good-by to his
 
 198 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 critical faculty the moment he looks into a young and 
 pretty face and meets a pair of sweet appealing eyes." 
 
 "You're basing that remark on an event that hap- 
 pened nearly forty years ago, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, at least you're admitting that I was pretty, 
 and had sweet appealing eyes in those days." 
 
 And after that they had both laughed, and Mrs. 
 Ford had agreed to call and inspect Ann. 
 
 Now she went on aloud: 
 
 "Where are you living?" 
 
 Ann pointed to the door at the back of the show- 
 room. 
 
 "I have a room there." 
 
 "Come to us for the week-end, will you? We're 
 alone my husband and I at present. My grand- 
 daughter has been down from the country for the 
 races, but she went home yesterday. And next week 
 Rhoda my daughter is bringing her two youngest 
 boys down to see the dentist. Come and spend tonight 
 and tomorrow night with us, will you? If it isn't too 
 dull for you with two old people." 
 
 "I'm not accustomed to anything very gay." 
 
 "Oh, I heard that you made a great success at the 
 races. One hears everything very quickly in Wairiri, 
 you know. We haven't anything else to do but to en- 
 deavor to secure servants and garden, and chat about 
 our neighbors. Will you come?" 
 
 "I'd love to," said Ann, conscious of a little lump 
 in her throat. 
 
 "Very well, that's settled, then. Do you keep the 
 shop open on Saturday afternoon?" 
 
 "Yes. Thursday is early closing day." 
 
 "Very well, I'll call for you in the car about five- 
 thirty. Will that be all right?"
 
 The Fords 199 
 
 "Quite," said Ann. She paused for a moment to 
 be quite sure that her voice was steady. "I'm not 
 going to try and thank you, Mrs. Ford, but I'm far 
 more grateful to you than you'll ever realize because 
 I know the . . . the kindness that has prompted your 
 invitation." 
 
 "No kindness at all, my dear," returned Mrs. Ford 
 in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. "I shouldn't ask you 
 if I didn't want you. Do you play bridge?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Ann. 
 
 "Fond of it? Would you like a game tonight?" 
 
 "Very much indeed, if you would." 
 
 "Oh, I'm always ready for a game. We're not 
 really top-notchers, my husband and I, but we both 
 play a fair game, and only sixpence a hundred. Hope 
 you're not too brilliant." 
 
 Ann shook her head. 
 
 "I'm only moderately good." 
 
 "I'll secure a fourth, and I'll collect the hat when I 
 collect you. Good-by." 
 
 With a swift smile she nodded, and was gone. 
 
 The fourth for bridge Robin Ashby was a plain 
 young clerk from Ford's office. But he was amusing 
 and good-humored, and evidently a great favorite 
 with his host and hostess. He came on to dinner from 
 the tennis courts, where he had been playing a match, 
 and was still in his flannels. 
 
 "I ought to have gone back to change," he re- 
 marked, eyeing Ann in her white frock. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mrs. Ford. "I don't want my cook 
 to give notice because the dinner's kept waiting. I've
 
 200 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 been without any one in the kitchen for a month, and 
 I hate doing the cooking." 
 
 "I only had time to get a shower at the club the 
 last set lasted so long." 
 
 "Well, you're clean, at any rate," remarked Mrs. 
 Ford, cheerfully. "Come along let's have dinner and 
 then attack the serious work of the evening." 
 
 The Fords' house was neither very large nor very 
 elaborately furnished. It was comfortable and home- 
 likea somewhat old-fashioned two-storied wooden 
 building surrounded by a big garden and wide pad- 
 docks. But to Ann it appeared to be something of a 
 paradise on earth. Here, at least, was peace and good- 
 will! And though the house might lay no claim to 
 being either picturesque or artistic, it had a certain 
 shabby dignity the atmosphere of a home where hap- 
 piness has been shared that was attractive and restful. 
 The garden was beautiful shady trees, big rose-beds, 
 masses of pink and blue and mauve hydrangea, tall 
 lemon bushes with yellow fruit shining among the 
 glossy green leaves, and wide herbaceous borders in 
 which high blue delphiniums and sweet peas backed 
 the lower growing ranks of white, and purple, and 
 pink, and yellow flowers. 
 
 On the veranda, after dinner, they sat in deck- 
 chairs to have their coffee smoking, to keep the mos- 
 quitoes at bay and afterwards adjourned to the 
 drawing-room for bridge. 
 
 It was a quiet, but very happy week-end for Ann, 
 and it gave her courage to face the coming week of 
 struggle and disappointment. For she was quite con- 
 vinced now that her business would peter out, and she 
 would be left without resources at the end of six 
 months. But she resolved to adopt as her motto "Suf-
 
 The Fords 201 
 
 ficient unto the day is the evil thereof," and not to 
 worry about the future more than she could help. 
 
 For the first three days of the following week no 
 one entered her shop. On the fourth which was early 
 closing day she was sitting alone still working, for 
 she had refused as yet to give up hope when Mrs. 
 Ford's car stopped in the street outside, and in walked 
 Mrs. Ford herself, her daughter Rhoda, and Rhoda's 
 two sons. 
 
 "This is my daughter, Mrs. Hemingway," said Mrs. 
 Ford, "and these are the twins, Peter and Paul, and if 
 you can tell t'other from which after they've got thor- 
 oughly mixed, you'll be cleverer than I am." 
 
 The little boys, who were seven years old, toofo off 
 their caps and gravely shook hands; and then pro- 
 ceeded to make a tour of the room, examining the 
 hats with great interest. 
 
 "Buy this one, Mum," said Peter (or it might have 
 been Paul). 
 
 "No, this," interjected his twin. "This one's got 
 lovely chrysantherums on it." 
 
 "Those aren't chrysantherums." 
 
 "Yes, they are." 
 
 "No, they aren't. They're bits of pink rag tied in a 
 bunch." 
 
 "Well, they're meant to be chrysantherums." 
 
 A lively argument ensued. But neither Mrs. Ford 
 nor Mrs. Hemingway paid the least attention to the 
 boys. They also were busy examining the hats. Mrs. 
 Hemingway, it appeared, wanted two, and Ann
 
 202 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 seemed to have the very two she wanted. Before they 
 all left the shop Mrs. Ford turned to Ann. 
 
 "We're taking the boys over to our shack on the 
 Puawa beach, to bathe, this afternoon. What about 
 joining us? You'll be free, won't you, if your room is 
 closed?" 
 
 "I've arranged to call for Biddy and Jo at Mrs. 
 Marley's." 
 
 "Bring them along too. Rhoda's driving us in her 
 Buick. We'll all pack in quite easily. And we're tak- 
 ing tea, and will have it at the shack." 
 
 "Do come," said Mrs. Hemingway, "if it wouldn't 
 bore you." 
 
 She was a very pleasant-faced woman in her late 
 thirties. She had a daughter of eighteen, Ann knew. 
 Rhoda had evidently followed her mother's example, 
 and married early. 
 
 Ann assured them that she certainly wouldn't be 
 bored, and that she would love to join them; and it 
 was arranged that they should pick up the little girls 
 at Mrs. Marley's, and then call for Ann at the shop 
 shortly after two o'clock. 
 
 She had seen Biddy and Jo at various times since 
 the day they had traveled down from Tirau, and had 
 once or twice taken them to a tea-shop in the main 
 street, and over to the bathing-sheds on the town 
 beach, less than a mile away, for a swim. But she had 
 been so rushed with work that she had been able to 
 spare them very little time. Now, she looked forward 
 to spending the whole afternoon with them, and with 
 these new friends. 
 
 Puawa beach was some distance from Wairiri. It 
 was beyond a big hill and long promontory, which 
 jutted out from the mouth of the river on the opposite
 
 The Fords 203 
 
 side to the town. You crossed the bridge, and took the 
 road leading to "The Coast" the road which Ann had 
 traversed in the service car when she first set out for 
 Tirau; and again when she drove with Holmes on 
 that terrible journey down from the station, nearly six 
 weeks previously. 
 
 The hills, now yellow and sun-dried, were all 
 around them as the car left the town behind; and be- 
 yond the wire fences that bordered the road horses 
 and cattle grazed contentedly in the hot sunshine, or 
 stood under the shade of the willows, switching at the 
 flies with their tails. There were a few small wooden 
 houses to be seen; but as the car drew farther away 
 from Wairiri the houses became fewer and farther be- 
 tween. Larks sang overhead, a warm wind swayed the 
 briars and the white flowered manuka on the hillside, 
 and the dust lay thick on the roadway. It rose in a 
 cloud at some distance ahead, where a big flock of 
 sheep were moving slowly towards the freezing works 
 on the bank of the river, under the lea of the hill. 
 
 In a few moments the car was amongst the sheep, 
 and had slowed down. Dogs were barking to clear a 
 passage-way for them two mounted men were whis- 
 tling. And then Ann looked up suddenly, to see 
 Rodney Marsh riding close beside her. He stared 
 at her for a moment, then lifted his hat, looked away, 
 and called to his dogs. After a little delay the car was 
 clear of the sheep, and Ann was thankful that neither 
 Biddy nor Jo had noticed that Rodney was with the 
 mob. 
 
 Mrs. Ford had noticed him, however. 
 
 "Did you see that handsome young drover?" she 
 asked her daughter. "He's a new client of Dad's. He 
 won quite a big sum of money at the Turf Club
 
 204 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Races, painted the town red that night, and next day 
 pulled off a marvelous deal in cattle. He's made quite 
 a good thing out of it. Apparently he's going in for 
 stock dealing as well as droving. Dad says he'd make 
 a fine stock-buyer if he wasn't quite so wild. He's got 
 any amount of ability. Dad likes him." 
 
 "He's very good looking," said Mrs. Hemingway; 
 and dismissing the drover from the conversation be- 
 gan to talk about her new car. 
 
 They reached the two-roomed shack one of a row 
 of small summer cottages facing the long sweep of the 
 ocean beach and undressing within the house, ran 
 down the slope of the white, grass-tufted sandhills to 
 the foaming line of breakers on the beach. They all 
 bathed. Mrs. Ford, apparently forgetting that she had 
 described herself as an old woman, plunged into the 
 surf, and battled with the tumbling waves with quite 
 as keen an enjoyment as Ann or her daughter, or any 
 of the children. 
 
 And after they were out and dressed once more, 
 they sat in the cretonne-covered chairs in the front 
 room of the shack whose wide doors opened to the 
 panorama of blue sea, green hills, and racing surf-- 
 and ate an enormous meal of cakes and sandwiches, 
 and drank large cups of steaming tea. Ann couldn't 
 help enjoying the day, but she wished she had not seen 
 Rodney. Or was she glad that she had seen him? That 
 she knew he was not far away? Impatiently she dis- 
 missed that question. True to her resolve, she had 
 been doing her best not to think of him to call up 
 another train of thought directly she found the 
 memory of his face, his voice returning. But today she 
 couldn't help seeing the picture of him stretched out 
 on the fern of the hillside, listening to her as she read
 
 The Fords 205 
 
 "Daisy," while the little girls played on the beach be- 
 low them, and the gulls wheeled and cried above the 
 line of surf that fringed the lovely bay. 
 
 "A berry red, a guileless look, 
 
 A still word strings of sand! 
 And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
 Fly down to her little hand!" 
 
 She remembered his clear brown eyes looking up at 
 her as she read that and something in his look some- 
 thing intent and yet startled. Had he realized in that 
 moment that it was possible that she might wield some 
 power over him? Well, it wasn't a very great power 
 she had wielded, she reflected with a little bitterness. 
 His wild, wild heart might have flown a little way 
 down towards her hand, but it had soon regained its 
 liberty. 
 
 Jo, moving suddenly, sent her mug of tea splashing 
 across the table. It slopped over into the plate of 
 cakes, and the little paper cases sailed about in it. The 
 children shrieked with delight. 
 
 "Little boats they are, sailing in the sea. And the 
 sea's tea!" 
 
 Mrs. Ford and Rhoda laughed, and Ann mopped 
 up the spilt tea, and set both the table, and her mind, 
 in order. 
 
 5- 
 
 At the end of that week Ann found that her sales 
 to Mrs. Ford and her daughter were the only ones 
 recorded in her books. Two or three women had 
 drifted in at various times, but they were unknown to 
 Ann, and they purchased nothing. Did this mean that
 
 206 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 her enterprise was doomed? Ann very much feared 
 that it did, but she would not accept defeat so easily. 
 With the help of Mrs. Hill she increased her stock 
 once more and filled her windows with the prettiest 
 of her models. As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, 
 she thought. And if she were doomed to go under, she 
 wouldn't tamely sink by slow degrees, but would go 
 down gallantly with her flags flying, and with a grand 
 and final splash. 
 
 She had heard no further word of the case, and 
 knew nothing of Vera's intentions. She had taken all 
 the steps which James Ford had advised, and now 
 could only await developments. 
 
 Rhoda Hemingway had gone back to her husband 
 at the sheep-station fifty miles inland, but Stephanie, 
 her eldest daughter, was in town staying with Mrs. 
 Ford. She, also, bought two hats when her grand- 
 motherwho paid the bill brought her into Ann's 
 shop to introduce her. But Ann couldn't live entirely 
 on the purchases made by the Ford family; and as the 
 second week dragged on with only one other cus- 
 tomer, Ann began to think seriously of closing the 
 shop altogether. But she had paid the rent for the first 
 three months in advance, and she herself must live 
 somewhere she couldn't leave the district now that 
 this action was pending, and she might as well die 
 gamely. So she continued to manufacture pretty hats, 
 and put them in the window, in spite of the fact that 
 no one appeared to want them. On Thursday Mrs. 
 Ford had asked her to go up to afternoon tea with 
 them. Stephanie would call for her in the car. 
 
 "Put on your prettiest hat and frock, my dear. In 
 spite of my age, I haven't lost my love of finery." 
 
 Ann thought that this was rather a strange request,
 
 The Fords 207 
 
 but after her shop was closed, she made her toilet with 
 extra care; chose gloves, shoes, and parasol to match 
 her frock; and then looking at herself in the glass, 
 exclaimed in some dismay, "I am dressed up. I might 
 be going to the races, or a garden party!" And to her 
 greater dismay, on her arrival with Stephanie in the 
 car, she found that she was going to a party. 
 
 "This is one of Granny's jokes," said pretty Steph- 
 anie, smiling at her. "The party is for me, and for 
 you you'll see it in the 'Social Notes' of tomorrow's 
 paper and you'll find everything you're wearing 
 chronicled, and chronicled wrong." 
 
 It was too late to escape, Ann realized. And it 
 would be a poor return for all Mrs. Ford's kindness to 
 treat her so rudely. The only thing to do was to face it 
 bravely. So with her head held high, and a flush that 
 made her look younger and sweeter than ever, Ann 
 walked up the veranda steps. Only one or two guests 
 had arrived as yet. These were the intrepid spirits 
 who always anticipated the hour specified for an 
 "afternoon tea" in Wairiri. "So horrid to be late," 
 they said; and so they got to the house very often 
 while the flurried hostess was putting the last touches 
 to the heavily-laden tea-table in the dining-room, or 
 in the absence of a cook taking the last batch of cakes 
 out of the oven. Mrs. Ford introduced Ann to these 
 early birds. 
 
 "I'm giving this little party for Stephanie and Miss 
 Merrill, you know. I want her to meet all our friends 
 in Wairiri. It's so lonely for a girl here if she doesn't 
 know every one. And Miss Merrill has been so enter- 
 prising, and has such sweet things in her hat shop. 
 Haven't you been to see them? Oh, but you must go. 
 This I've got on is one of her models, and Stephanie's
 
 s>o8 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 too. Isn't that a sweet one? So becoming and so 
 simple." 
 
 This sort of thing went on most of the afternoon. A 
 fair percentage of the eighty or ninety women present 
 Ann had already met on the racecourse or had seen 
 in her shop. They all belonged to the same set the 
 wives and daughters of the sheep-farmers, the lawyers, 
 the doctors, and the bank managers. Ann was practi- 
 cally the only "trade" representative at the party. 
 They took part in competitions, for which there were 
 prizes, wandered round the garden, indulged in what 
 the paper next day described as "social chat," and ate 
 an extraordinary large tea. 
 
 Ann discovered that at least one of these functions 
 took place every week in Wairiri; and that all the 
 same women attended each and every one. She won- 
 dered how the supply of "social chat" held out; and 
 then suddenly with a deepening flush she remembered 
 that she herself had probably supplied a good deal of 
 it for the last one, and was supplying more for this. 
 But the fact that Mrs. Ford was giving the entertain- 
 ment in her honor, and throwing her thus so con- 
 spicuously in the company of her granddaughter, was, 
 she realized, the quickest and most efficacious way of 
 taking the worst of the sting out of the scandal. There 
 must be something to be said for her if Mary Ford 
 made so much fuss of her. Mary wasn't a fool, or 
 easily taken in. 
 
 Ann knew before the afternoon was over that Mrs. 
 Ford had, at least partially, accomplished her object. 
 Even if the case now came into Court, Ann would 
 have a few partisans who would not believe ill of her. 
 They were for the most part very warm-hearted, and 
 very kind, these people; but they were inclined to be
 
 The Fords 209 
 
 rigid in their views. They did not look with favor 
 upon girls who got mixed up in divorce cases. Still, 
 they were now prepared to follow the lead Mary Ford 
 had given them, and to reserve judgment until they 
 heard further evidence. The trouble was, that a small 
 section was inclined to hail her as a martyr, and in- 
 stead of slighting her, to make a fuss of her. And all 
 Ann wanted except in her hat shop was to be left 
 alone. She was not happy at present, and she had no 
 aptitude for "social chat." She had enjoyed the week- 
 end she had spent with the Fords; the picnic at the 
 shack; and she hoped that she would see more of them 
 in future, for they were genuinely good friends. But 
 to accept invitations from comparative strangers was 
 altogether a different matter. 
 
 However, she could always plead pressure of busi- 
 ness. And during the days that followed she was able 
 truthfully to do this. Her little showroom was now 
 never without customers. She was compelled to em- 
 ploy another hand as well as Mrs. Hill, and all three 
 worked "overtime" in the evenings as well as during 
 the day. 
 
 Business was "booming." Before Ann's new goods 
 arrived from London she had cabled for more and 
 had included in her order smart and inexpensive 
 frocks. Whatever happened in the future, she was now 
 convinced her business would not fail.
 
 XII 
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 
 
 i. 
 
 ONE morning early in March, when Ann and Mrs. 
 Hill were busy in the showroom, a man entered. Ann, 
 leaving the customer to whom she had been speaking, 
 advanced towards him, and found herself face to face 
 with Gerald Waring. 
 
 "I got back last night," he said, moderating his 
 voice, so that no one else but Ann could hear him, 
 "and I want to see you! We can't talk here come out 
 to morning tea with me." 
 
 Ann glanced at Mrs. Hill, and the girl who was try- 
 ing on hats at the other end of the room. 
 
 "You can leave some one in charge," went on War- 
 ing. "I'll go on to the Imperial and engage a table on 
 the balcony. Come straight upstairs through the 
 lounge. Say in a quarter of an hour's time." 
 
 "Our talk must be 'without prejudice,' as the 
 lawyers say," said Ann. 
 
 "You've had some experience of the law lately, I 
 hear." 
 
 Ann flushed, but she met his eyes quite bravely. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "Did you know about it be- 
 fore . . . before you left Australia?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I heard it last night in the club. Probably an in- 
 
 210
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 211 
 
 correct rumor. It's important for me to know the 
 truth." 
 
 "I want to know it, too," answered Ann. "Will you 
 be truthful with me?" 
 
 "As far as ... as I can be," he returned. "One can't 
 always divulge all one knows." 
 
 "No," said Ann soberly. She hesitated for a mo- 
 ment, and then made up her mind. "Go now, and I'll 
 join you in about ten minutes," she said. 
 
 He left the shop, and she turned again to the cus- 
 tomer, who was still undecided as to which of two hats 
 she should buy. The girl tried them both on again. 
 Ann thought the less expensive one the more becom- 
 ing, and said so. The buyer looked relieved. 
 
 "I didn't want to give quite so much," she said. 
 
 "The cheaper hat suits you best," said Ann, "and 
 is really just as smart." 
 
 The purchase was completed, the girl made her way 
 out, and Ann was free. Within ten minutes she was 
 walking down the main street towards the Imperial. 
 Summer had not yet merged into autumn, and it was 
 very hot. At the end of the street, across the Puawa 
 bridge one saw the shoulder of the big hill tawny and 
 sun-dried against the blue sky. Men in their shirt- 
 sleeves drove motor-lorries through the town; women 
 in light-colored frocks were stepping out of their cars 
 in front of the shops; some Maoris sat on the edge of 
 the pavement eating crayfish; and there were groups 
 of men some in riding clothes with dogs beside them 
 talking together outside the tobacconists, the bars, 
 and in front of banks. A good deal of the business of 
 Wairiri the buying and selling of stock or produce, 
 engaging shepherds or drovers was conducted in this 
 way, in the street.
 
 212 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ann was glad that on her way she did not meet any 
 one she knew. She wanted to learn news of Vera from 
 Waring, but she had no desire to become the subject 
 of further gossip. While it was harmless enough in 
 general to have a cup of tea in the morning with a 
 man friend every one in Wairiri had this "morning 
 tea" either at home or somewhere in town she knew 
 that in her case such a proceeding might be miscon- 
 strued. The balcony at the Imperial was a favorite 
 rendezvous, but fortunately it was now well after 
 eleven, and most of the tea-drinkers would have de- 
 parted by this time. 
 
 In point of fact, besides Waring's, only two of the 
 tables were occupied when Ann arrived, and there 
 was no one on the balcony whom she recognized. And 
 no one paid any attention to her as she crossed over, 
 and sat down opposite to Waring. 
 
 He ordered the tea, talked of his journey up from 
 Hawkeston by car, the weather, and small local gossip, 
 until the waiter had departed. 
 
 "Now what's all this cock-and-bull story about you 
 and Dick Holmes?" he asked. 
 
 "Perhaps you know as much as I do," she answered. 
 
 "How should I know?" 
 
 "Didn't you meet Mrs. Holmes in Sydney?" 
 
 "Yes, I ran across her one day in Pitt Street." 
 
 "Is she still there? In Sydney, I mean." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I haven't the faintest idea." 
 
 "Haven't you heard from her?" 
 
 He looked at her for a moment sharply. 
 
 "Why should I hear?" he asked. 
 
 "You were . . . were great friends, weren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, but I'm afraid I don't bother much about
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 213 
 
 writing to any one. I didn't stay more than a week in 
 Sydney. It was too hot. I went on to Melbourne, 
 found that hotter, and so crossed to Tasmania. I've 
 been there nearly all the time." 
 
 "Where's Mrs. Holmes now?" 
 
 "My good child, how should I know? I presume 
 she's still in Sydney, as she doesn't seem to have come 
 back to New Zealand." 
 
 Ann was silent. She couldn't go on questioning 
 him like this unless she wished him to realize that she 
 knew his secret. She could only fill in the blanks as 
 best she might. When Vera followed him to Sydney, 
 had he gone off leaving no address? That would be 
 a perfectly simple method of procedure rather cruel 
 perhaps; but Ann believed that before his departure 
 from Tirau he had made it plain to Vera that things 
 were at an end between them. If Vera wouldn't accept 
 this ultimatum from him if she had persisted in her 
 resolve to see him again hadn't she brought this 
 upon her own head? And yet in her heart Ann was 
 conscious of pity for the forsaken woman. How ter- 
 rible to be driven to pursue a man in this fashion- 
 to lose all pride, all self-respect. And was this divorce 
 action her last desperate effort to regain her lover? 
 Was she mad enough to believe that a man who had 
 tired would come back to her and marry her? But 
 then it was more than likely that Vera would not 
 allow herself to believe that his love had grown cold. 
 In all probability Waring had used the argument that 
 it was for her sake he was giving her up. That they 
 mustn't run the risk of detection. A woman in love 
 was fool enough to believe anything! But Ann 
 couldn't help ranging herself on the forsaken woman's 
 side against the faithless lover. Not that she held any
 
 214 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 brief for Vera far from it! But while Waring's con- 
 duct in the whole affair seemed to Ann much the more 
 despicable, yet it was Vera who would inevitably 
 suffer the consequences. Waring merely ended an 
 intrigue which had lost interest for him, and escaped 
 unhurt. 
 
 "Well, are you going to tell me what's at the bottom 
 of this ridiculous rumor?" 
 
 "It is more than a rumor. It's a fact. Mrs. Holmes 
 is bringing an action for divorce against her husband, 
 and is using my . . . my name in the case." 
 
 "Vera must be mad." 
 
 "You don't believe she's justified?" 
 
 "My good girl, I'm not altogether a fool. Holmes 
 isn't that sort of man, and he loves his wife. And I've 
 enough judgment of character to know that you've 
 got what shall I say? moral principles." 
 
 "Much better women than I am have . . . have not 
 always acted as they should " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Not in that sort of fashion. You're too honest, and 
 you'd never behave . . . shabbily." 
 
 Ann's eyes were on her plate, where her fingers 
 crumbled her cake to pieces. 
 
 "You credit me with too much virtue," she said at 
 last with some difficulty. "I'm as liable to yield to ... 
 to temptation as any other woman." 
 
 "No, pardon me. You're as liable as any other 
 woman perhaps a bit more liable than most to feel 
 the strength of temptation. But you're not weak. And 
 you're not likely to do anything that you'd look upon 
 as underhand or mean." 
 
 She did not answer, and he went on: 
 
 "There's one way to put an end to all this talk
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 215 
 
 marry me. Vera couldn't go on with the case after 
 that. There wouldn't be the least likelihood of her 
 getting a decree if she did. She'd only succeed in 
 making a fool of herself, and losing every friend she's 
 got." 
 
 And with Waring married the whole object of the 
 divorce would vanish. Ann saw that clearly. However 
 jealous and revengeful Vera might feel, she would 
 recognize the fact that she could gain nothing but 
 social ostracism from bringing the case. As the wife 
 of one of the wealthiest sheep-farmers in the district, 
 Ann's position would be very different to that of a 
 friendless, unknown girl. 
 
 "I feel more than a little . . . grateful to you for 
 that," said Ann. "It makes me like you better than 
 I've ever done before. But I'm sorry I can't marry 
 you." 
 
 "I'm utterly unattractive to you then?" 
 
 "No you're not. Oh, it's terribly difficult to explain. 
 I can't help being attracted to you in a way. And yet 
 I know that marriage should mean more than that. 
 There should be some deeper sympathy and affection. 
 I haven't got that for you. Please don't let us dis- 
 cuss it." 
 
 "Very well, we won't talk about it any more for the 
 present. Have another cup of tea? Do you mind if I 
 smoke?" 
 
 She was glad that he could resume a lighter tone, 
 and after a moment, when he began to chaff her about 
 her business, Ann felt herself on safer ground. 
 
 "They've asked me to play in the Wairiri polo team 
 at the tournament in Hawkeston at the end of next 
 week," said Waring later. 
 
 "Are you going to?"
 
 216 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "I think so. By the way, you remember young 
 Marsh at Tirau, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Ann. 
 
 "He's in the team." 
 
 "Is he? I thought he was droving or something 
 now." 
 
 Her voice was quite level and unconcerned. She 
 had heard nothing of Rodney for the past few weeks- 
 had put him out of her thoughts as much as possible. 
 But the sudden longing to speak of him, to learn 
 something concerning him, was at this moment over- 
 whelming in its intensity. 
 
 "He's apparently been doing extraordinarily well 
 in stock dealing. But I don't fancy he'll keep his 
 money long. He's gambling pretty heavily " 
 
 "Oh! losing?" 
 
 "Not so far. He's had phenomenal luck, so they say 
 takes tremendous chances, and invariably wins. He's 
 getting quite a reputation as a plunger." 
 
 "I suppose a gambler nearly always loses in the 
 end." 
 
 "That reckless type does. The luck can't hold for 
 ever." 
 
 The conversation with reference to Rodney Marsh 
 seemed likely to come to an end. Ann wondered des- 
 perately how she could contrive to continue it with- 
 out making her interest in the young man's doings 
 too apparent. 
 
 "I remember on my first night at Tirau, you proph- 
 esied that the Wairiri girls would be tumbling over 
 one another to dance with him at the polo ball." 
 
 Waring laughed. 
 
 "So they would have been, if he'd come with us.
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 217 
 
 He'll probably have a still bigger success in Hawkes- 
 ton. He's quite a man of means now." 
 
 "Really!" said Ann, making a gallant effort to an- 
 swer his smile. She had learned quite enough too 
 much. She wouldn't talk of Rodney any more. 
 
 She made up her mind to say "good-by" to Waring 
 on the balcony. She wouldn't let him escort her back 
 to the shop, and she would not promise to meet him 
 again. 
 
 "You don't get rid of me quite so easily, you know," 
 Waring warned her. "There's no law to prevent my 
 recommending my lady friends to buy their hats at 
 your emporium, and coming in to advise them as to 
 their selection, when I happen to be in Wairiri." 
 
 "Of course there isn't," she answered. "The more 
 the merrier. I always welcome business." 
 
 "Are you really making a good thing out of it?" 
 
 "I should think so. I'll be one of the leading 
 trades-women of the town before I've finished." 
 
 "You'll be married long before that happens." 
 
 Ann shook her head. 
 
 "No," she answered soberly, "there's no likelihood 
 of that." 
 
 "I can tell you the name of the man you are going 
 to marry," said Waring coolly. 
 
 But she refused to be led into any further discussion 
 on the matter. She rose, and saying good-by, she 
 thanked him for the tea, and left him. 
 
 2. 
 
 Waring stayed for one night in Wairiri, before go- 
 ing through to Hawkeston for the polo tournament, 
 at the end of the following week. He called to see Ann
 
 218 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 in the afternoon, and tried to persuade her to dine 
 with him. But Ann was obdurate in her refusal to 
 meet him anywhere outside the precincts of her own 
 establishment. And then, fearing that he might call 
 on her after her shop was closed, she invited Mrs. Hill 
 to accompany her to the cinema in the evening. 
 
 Being over a hundred miles from one of the main- 
 line railway junctions, Wairiri seldom had a chance 
 of seeing the dramatic and musical comedy companies 
 which visited the larger centers of the Dominion, 
 after touring in Australia. It was difficult for any 
 theatrical organization to transport scenery and com- 
 pany so far, entirely by motor-lorries and cars. Conse- 
 quently a visit to the "pictures" was the sole nightly 
 entertainment of the little town; and there were two 
 rival firms exhibiting films. 
 
 Ann decided this evening to book seats at the less 
 fashionable of the two cinemas. It wasn't very likely 
 that Waring would visit either of the theaters; he'd 
 be much more likely to be playing bridge or poker 
 at the club. But in case he did call at the shop and 
 find her out, there was a chance that he would stroll 
 along to the Coliseum, where so many residents of 
 Wairiri spent their evenings. Consequently Ann 
 avoided the Coliseum, and went to the Regent in- 
 stead. 
 
 Here they were featuring "Snowy" Baker in an out- 
 door film. Ann found his feats of horsemanship quite 
 thrilling, and she was glad she had chosen this par- 
 ticular theatre. She had no desire to see one of the 
 usual, lurid Hollywood dramas of crime and passion. 
 Here was something real a man who rode with pluck 
 and daring. And Ann still cherished an ardent desire 
 to become an accomplished horsewoman. She had no
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 219 
 
 chance at present of indulging in any sort of out-door 
 amusement beyond an occasional dip in the surf from 
 the town bathing-sheds. But later perhaps! And of 
 course as her thoughts strayed in this fashion back to 
 her first riding lesson, the vision of Rodney Marsh 
 walking at Nigger's shoulder was a clear, little sun- 
 bright picture in her mind. 
 
 Mrs. Hill's husband stood in the vestibule, waiting 
 to escort his wife home, at the close of the perform- 
 ance. They would see Ann safely to her door on their 
 way. But as he joined them Ann suddenly looked up 
 to discover Rodney Marsh's eyes upon her. He also, 
 it seemed, had been amongst the audience. A move- 
 ment of the crowd brought them nearer to one an- 
 other, and a little apart from the Hills. 
 
 "Good evening," said Ann. "I suppose you're go- 
 ing on to Hawkeston tomorrow?" 
 
 Her voice showed no trace of anything save a 
 natural friendliness. 
 
 "Yes," he answered; and then after a moment went 
 on in a lower tone: "Are you with a party?" 
 
 "I brought Mrs. Hill. She and her husband are 
 standing over there. They're waiting to see me home." 
 
 "Let them go on. I'm walking your way." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Ann's voice was still perfectly natural, but she knew 
 that her heart was beating faster. She told herself she 
 was a fool to assent to this arrangement. What good 
 could come of any renewed intimacy with Rodney 
 Marsh? And yet the temptation to be with him to 
 talk to him again if only for a few minutes, was too 
 great to be resisted. 
 
 She signaled to the Hills. 
 
 "A friend is seeing me home. Don't wait."
 
 220 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "You're sure you're all right?" said loyal and 
 anxious Mrs. Hill. 
 
 "Quite. Good night." 
 
 The Hills went off, and Ann moved beside Rodney 
 out on to the crowded pavement. They walked in 
 silence until they were clear of the stream of pedes- 
 trians. 
 
 "I was rather surprised to see you at the pictures," 
 said Ann, at last, making a small attempt at conver- 
 sation. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I can't quite imagine you as 
 a film fan." 
 
 "I'm not. I went tonight to see Snowy Baker. He's 
 a fine rider, and the horse he rode was bred in New 
 Zealand. He took it over to California from Aus- 
 tralia." 
 
 "Really." 
 
 The conversation languished. Then all at once Ann 
 halted. 
 
 "This isn't my way home," she said. 
 
 "Never mind. It's quite early." 
 
 "It's certainly a lovely night for a walk," agreed 
 Ann, weakly. "I'm always glad to get out in the fresh 
 air after being cooped up in my shop all day." 
 
 "How are you doing?" 
 
 "Splendidly. Making money hand over fist." 
 
 "I've been lucky too." 
 
 Suddenly Ann laughed. 
 
 "We're both rather good at bragging, aren't we?" 
 
 Her laugh relieved the tension between them, and 
 they began to talk more easily. 
 
 "You must be doing well," she chaffed him, "if you 
 can afford an expensive game like polo."
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 221 
 
 . 
 "There isn't much expense connected with it here. 
 
 I bought one of my best ponies out of the Pound for 
 six shillings, and the other two haven't cost me much 
 more than a fiver apiece." 
 
 "I wish I could buy a pony for six shillings. But 
 what about all your expenses in Hawkestone?" 
 
 "They won't amount to much. The Hawkeston 
 team are putting us up. We're to be billeted at their 
 homes." 
 
 "Shall you like that?" 
 
 "I'd rather stay at an hotel, but the polo ground is 
 in the country. It would mean a lot of motoring. And 
 I've met most of the team. They're real good chaps." 
 
 Her first embarrassment had vanished. Now, she 
 told herself, that it was a perfectly natural proceeding 
 to go for a walk with an old acquaintance on such a 
 glorious night. They had turned to the left along the 
 road leading to the beach. The bright, full moon 
 shone down from a clear sky on the small, white- 
 painted bridge across the creek, and turned the stream 
 to silver. Beyond the rolling sandhills they could see 
 the gleam of the bay and hear the roar of the breakers. 
 The road was quite deserted, for they had left the 
 town behind them. 
 
 "How did you know I was playing in the polo 
 team?" 
 
 "I saw your name in the paper. But I knew before 
 that. Mr. Waring told me." 
 
 "You've been seeing him, have you?" 
 
 "Yes. I had morning tea with him when he got back 
 from Australia." 
 
 "He's in town tonight. Have you met him?" 
 
 "For a few minutes this afternoon. He called at my 
 shop."
 
 222 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "What did he do that for?" 
 
 "He was kind enough to ask me to dinner. I didn't 
 want to go." 
 
 "Is he in love with you, too?" 
 
 "I don't know what right you have to ask me such 
 stupid, personal questions." 
 
 "Can't you answer them?" 
 
 "Certainly if I choose to," she replied, with a little 
 flare of spirit. 
 
 "And you don't choose?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That's all right. You've answered the question." 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 "Rodney, I'll go home if you can't behave decently 
 to me." 
 
 He was silent for a moment. 
 
 "I'll do my best," he said at last, rather grudgingly. 
 "You can't expect me to have such beautiful manners 
 as Waring." 
 
 "Why can't I?" 
 
 "I never went to an expensive school." 
 
 "Consideration for the feelings of other people 
 hasn't anything to do with expensive schools." 
 
 "And has Waring shown much consideration for 
 the feelings of others? For the boss, for instance?" 
 
 What did he mean by that, she wondered? How 
 much did he know? 
 
 "I didn't go out with Mr. Waring, and I'm here 
 now with you," she said, "so I don't think we need 
 discuss him any more. Tell me about yourself. How's 
 Nigger? Is he in training?" 
 
 "Yes. I saw him today. He's entered for the autumn 
 steeplechase here, and then I'm taking him to Christ- 
 church."
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 223 
 
 "I won quite a big sum at the last races, thanks to 
 you. They say you made a lot of money, too." 
 
 "What else do they say?" 
 
 "That you could do very well as a stock-buyer if 
 you wanted to, but that you're reckless and you're 
 gambling too much." 
 
 "That's my own business, isn't it?" 
 
 "Of course. You asked me what people were saying, 
 and I told you." 
 
 They had reached the last ridge of the sandhills, 
 and below them lay the wide sweep of the bay. The 
 white breakers tossing in the moonlight stretched in 
 a ten-mile curve to the hazy line of the ranges away 
 to the right. One could see the glow of a bush-fire 
 burning in one of the far distant gullies. Nearer at 
 hand, on the left, the silent mass of the Puawa Hill 
 showed clearly against the stars. A few yellow spots of 
 light at its base revealed little dwellings on the beach. 
 Out in the roadstead the hull of a solitary ocean tramp 
 was visible. 
 
 "Sit down the sand's quite dry and warm," said 
 Marsh abruptly. 
 
 Ann hesitated. 
 
 "Only for a few minutes then. I must go home." 
 
 "You seem to be a bit more careful of your reputa- 
 tion with me than you were with Holmes." 
 
 "I've told you he was terribly unhappy I wanted 
 to help him." 
 
 "Do you think I'm happy?" 
 
 She had seated herself beside him, her hands clasped 
 round her knees. 
 
 "Your unhappiness is probably of your own mak- 
 ing. His was quite undeserved." 
 
 He was silent for a moment and then he said:
 
 224 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "What's happened about. . . the case?" 
 
 "Nothing. No one has heard anything further from 
 Mrs. Holmes. I suppose it will come on later." 
 
 "You take it very calmly." 
 
 "I dread it terribly, but I try not to think about it. 
 I'm working hard, and I know that here in Wairiri 
 there are a few people at least who are prepared to 
 believe the best of me." 
 
 "If they saw you here now with me, they mightn't 
 be so sure." 
 
 "No . . . They mightn't." 
 
 "Why did you come?" 
 
 She was letting the dry sand run through her 
 fingers, and she did not answer at once. 
 
 "Because I'm weak, I suppose," she said at last. 
 "I'm rather lonely, and I wanted to see you, and talk 
 to you." 
 
 He caught her hand and held it. Then he laid his 
 face down against it, as he had done that day when he 
 said he loved her. 
 
 "No," she said quietly. "I don't want you to do 
 that. You've made it clear that marriage isn't possible 
 for us, and I've come to see that you are right. But we 
 can still be friends, Rodney, as long as we don't mix 
 up friendship with . . . with anything else." 
 
 He released her hand, and sat up. She hesitated for 
 a moment, and then she said: 
 
 "Can't you tell me why you're unhappy?" 
 
 "I don't know. Nothing seems worth while. I 
 gamble but I don't care whether I win or lose." 
 
 "I wish you'd promise to live more . . . more 
 steadily." 
 
 "Why? What does it signify? I'm not responsible 
 to any one for the way I live."
 
 A Lover, and a Friend 225 
 
 "I don't think that any of us are quite free agents. 
 We owe something to the community and to our- 
 selves." 
 
 "Well, it doesn't make two-pennyworth of differ- 
 ence to you, anyhow." 
 
 "Yes, it does," she answered stoutly. "As long as 
 you're my friend, I want to be proud of your success 
 in life." 
 
 "Better not think of me one way or the other. If 
 I'm going to the devil, as you seem to imagine, it's 
 my own affair entirely." He got up. "It's time we 
 were getting back." 
 
 "Yes," said Ann cheerfully. "Perhaps it is." 
 
 If he had hurt her by his abrupt termination of 
 their talk together, she would not let him see it. She 
 had bared her heart sufficiently to him. She would 
 hide it in future. So, as they walked back side by side, 
 she chatted quite naturally about her business, Nig- 
 ger's chances for the Autumn Meeting, and the polo 
 tournament in Hawkeston. Then, at her door, she 
 wished him good night, in a friendly matter-of-fact 
 tone, and told him she had enjoyed the walk very 
 much. 
 
 But she stuffed a large pocket handkerchief under 
 her pillow, and it was rather crushed and damp be- 
 fore she finally fell asleep. For she knew she had 
 reached the last chapter of her own foolish romance, 
 and that there could be no "happy ending."
 
 XIII 
 
 Stephanie 
 
 i. 
 
 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 morning 
 till late at night. 
 
 Ford's prediction that all the gossip about her 
 would turn out to be a good advertisement was prov- 
 ing 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 
 
 226
 
 Stephanie 227 
 
 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 instruc- 
 tions 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
 
 228 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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 War- 
 ing seems rather amused that Rodney made such a 
 hit with everybody during the tournament. Appar- 
 ently 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 posi- 
 tion 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 than friends in future, 
 she was conscious of a little thrill of pride in hearing
 
 Stephanie 229 
 
 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
 
 230 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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,
 
 Stephanie 231 
 
 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 shad- 
 ows to darken her mind today the fresh south wind 
 should blow them all away! The two little boys chat- 
 tered beside her. Mrs. Ford turned very often to 
 speak to the three in the back seat; and Rhoda, with- 
 out 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-respond- 
 ent? 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
 
 232 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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.
 
 Stephanie 233 
 
 "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 to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "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 sand- 
 wiches with us." 
 
 "And hard-boiled eggs," said Biddy. 
 
 "And Mrs. Marley made us tea in her thermom- 
 eter," 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 prob- 
 ably turn at the creek over the hill there, and circle 
 back this way." 
 
 "Have there been any spills?"
 
 234 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "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. He 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 Heming- 
 way 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 talk- 
 ing to Mrs. Ford and Rhoda. Under the gray sky the
 
 Stephanie 235 
 
 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: 
 
 i 
 
 "The sea's eye had a mist on it, 
 And the leaves fell from the day." 
 
 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
 
 236 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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, War- 
 ing'scar. 
 
 "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 every- 
 where 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 prom- 
 ised 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."
 
 Stephanie 237 
 
 "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 unhappi- 
 ness 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."
 
 238 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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 down- 
 stairs 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 in- 
 variably "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
 
 Stephanie 239 
 
 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 be- 
 tween 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 dis- 
 posed 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 sug- 
 gested 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
 
 240 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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 Welling- 
 ton 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."
 
 Stephanie 241 
 
 "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. ''Ohj 
 will nothing ever make you realize that it's quite im- 
 possible what you ask?" 
 
 "Nothing, my dear, except your marriage to an- 
 other man." 
 
 She had no reply to make to that, but she moved 
 forward towards the lighted hall, and he walked be- 
 side her. In the doorway they came face to face with 
 Stephanie and Rodney coming out to resume the les- 
 son. 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."
 
 242 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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 con- 
 sciousness 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.
 
 Stephanie 243 
 
 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 eve- 
 ning, 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 conver- 
 sation?" 
 
 "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 sud- 
 denly stilled. She was conscious of a sharp stab of re- 
 morse. 
 
 "Rodney," she said quietly, "I've never told you
 
 244 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 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? Doesn'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 an- 
 other." 
 
 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
 
 Stephanie 245 
 
 Nigger's chances for the Autumn Meeting in a fort- 
 night's time, and for the Grand National in August 
 the young horse Marsh had ridden the Fordsand 
 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.
 
 XIV 
 
 Vera 
 
 i. 
 
 WARING had been away for nearly a fortnight when 
 Ann received a letter from him. 
 
 "It depends on you whether I return to Wairiri 
 or not," he wrote. "I'm quite aware that you've 
 already refused me on three different occasions. 
 I'm trying once more the fourth and last time. 
 Don't answer for a day or two. Please think it over. 
 As my wife you can choose whether you would live 
 in New Zealand or in England. You can travel or 
 do anything else you please. Money isn't to be 
 despised. It oils the wheels of life considerably, 
 believe me. And I'm not a bad sort of chap, as men 
 go, and not difficult to live with. I'm neither un- 
 reasonable, nor fussy, nor bad-tempered. These may 
 be minor virtues, but I imagine that they are not 
 without value in a husband. This isn't a love letter. 
 It's a business offer. You're a business woman. 
 Think it over. If you decide that you want to live 
 at Kopu which you've never seen, but which, if 
 you like the country, you'd find one of the most 
 attractive spots on the coast I will reserve the 
 homestead and part of the place. If you don't want 
 to live there the Government can take over the 
 246
 
 Vera 247 
 
 whole station as they appear to be anxious to do, 
 and I shall not return to the district. I'll probably 
 go to England for a time. I'm holding up the sale 
 for a week, but do me at least this favor: read this 
 letter through after an interval of twenty-four 
 hours and do not answer it until then. The world 
 is a very beautiful place, my dear Ann, and we 
 could see it together. 
 
 "I'm not discounting your own capacity as a 
 money-maker. You appear to be doing exceedingly 
 well. But after years of a. rather irksome grind, I 
 don't think it is possible that you would have made 
 as much money as I could give you tomorrow. 
 Money means freedom. That's its greatest virtue, 
 and freedom to enjoy its pleasures while you are 
 young is not to be despised." 
 
 Ann read the letter through carefully, and though 
 she had no doubt as to what her reply would be, 
 she placed it in the envelope and locked it up in her 
 desk. She meant to accede to Waring's request, and 
 read it again later. The lapse of time wasn't in the 
 least likely to alter her decision, she felt sure; and yet 
 she knew that the writer of the letter did, by this 
 means, keep his offer before her. She was honest 
 enough not to deny that to a certain extent she was 
 tempted now, as she had never been before, to accept 
 Waring's proposal. It meant the solution of so many 
 of her difficulties. But, though she admitted the truth 
 of his statement, "money means freedom," she wasn't 
 blind to the fact that a loveless marriage didn't mean 
 anything of the sort. She had already tasted the joy 
 of an income earned by her own efforts. Only one 
 thing she knew would ever induce her to give up her
 
 248 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 economic independence the sharing of her life with 
 a man she loved. 
 
 Throughout the whole of the day, though at the 
 back of her mind she had still the memory of War- 
 ing's letter locked up in her desk, her attention was 
 concentrated upon the work in hand. Both she and 
 Mrs. Hill were kept busily engaged supplying the 
 wants of numerous customers, while Ruth Atkins, 
 the third member of the establishment, sat in Ann's 
 room behind the shop stitching industriously. 
 
 The Autumn Steeplechase Meeting was to take 
 place next day, and new frocks and hats were being 
 busily selected. Rhoda Hemingway was in town, 
 staying with her mother for the races, and Mrs. Ford 
 telephoned to Ann inviting her to accompany them in 
 the car. 
 
 "We have a spare seat. Rhoda's driving, and 
 Stephanie, of course, is coming. Jim prefers to spend 
 the day on the golf course. I'm not much of a race- 
 goer, but Stephanie won't hear of my spending the 
 day at home alone. We've got half a dozen ladies' 
 tickets, so you might as well make use of one of 
 them." 
 
 Ann thanked her, but declined. Vera had sent no 
 answer to the letter she had written to her nearly 
 three months previously, and still had made no 
 further move to go on with the case. But as long as 
 the action was pending, Ann had no desire to join in 
 any social functions. And yet she could not help feel- 
 ing a little pang of regret as she refused the invitation. 
 It was to be Nigger's day of triumph. She would have 
 liked above all things to be on the course, to see him 
 win. And Nigger's owner would be there also. All the 
 more reason for her to stay at home, she told her-
 
 Vera 249 
 
 self. She had seen nothing of Marsh since the evening 
 she had walked home with him from the Fords; and 
 had heard nothing, except the fact that he had been 
 up the coast buying cattle. 
 
 The rush of business was over before five. At half- 
 past the shop would be closing; and Mrs. Hill had 
 already gone, and Ruth was putting on her hat pre- 
 paratory to taking her departure, when a belated 
 customer entered. Ann, alone in the showroom, 
 moved forward to meet the newcomer. After three 
 days of stormy weather it had been a gray, showery 
 afternoon, and now twilight was falling. Ann's hand 
 went out towards the electric switch. 
 
 "Don't turn on the lights," said the other woman, 
 in a swift, low voice. "Are you alone?" 
 
 It was Vera! 
 
 Ann stood perfectly still and rigid for a few sec- 
 onds. 
 
 "I'll get rid of my assistant," she said. 
 
 She passed through the door into her own room, 
 and after a moment or two emerged with Ruth. 
 
 "Shan't I stay to lock up?" asked the girl. 
 
 "Oh, no! I can manage," returned Ann, her voice 
 perfectly normal and business-like. "I want that rib- 
 bon from Bletchley's, particularly. You'll have to 
 hurry to get there before they close. Don't come back 
 with it. It'll do in the morning. Good night." 
 
 Ruth passed out of the shop, and Ann shut the 
 outer door, and returning closed the inner door as 
 well. 
 
 Vera was standing where she had left her, with her 
 back to the entrance. She was picking up hats and 
 putting them down.
 
 250 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "We're quite alone now," said Ann, "and we shan't 
 be disturbed again." 
 
 "Are you surprised to see me?" asked Vera, with 
 a certain harsh abruptness. 
 
 "Just at first I was, but I think I always knew we'd 
 meet again somewhere." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don't know. I think our lives are bound together 
 in a way yours and mine." 
 
 "The bond was nearly broken then. They thought 
 I was dying in Sydney I wish I had died." 
 
 Even in the dim light, Ann could see that the hand- 
 some face was more haggard than ever the dark eyes 
 more deeply sunken. 
 
 "I'm sorry," she said. 
 
 "Sorry that I didn't die?" 
 
 "You know that's not what I mean." 
 
 "Why should you be sorry for any other reason? 
 I don't want pity." 
 
 "Don't you want any affection any sympathy?" 
 
 Vera did not answer for a moment, and then she 
 said sharply: 
 
 "That's out of the question between us now." 
 
 "Why? You don't believe that story about Mr. 
 Holmes and me I know you don't." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 "You know that there's only one woman in his life 
 -you." 
 
 Suddenly Ann pushed forward a chair. 
 
 "Sit down. You're dead tired." 
 
 "There's no reason why I should be I've been 
 sitting in the Hawkeston service car all day." 
 
 But nevertheless she took the chair that was offered.
 
 Vera 251 
 
 "I suppose I'm not quite strong yet. They told me 
 I ought not to travel so soon." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "Pneumonia after 'flu." 
 
 "Why have you come back?" 
 
 "It's better that I should be here, on the spot, for 
 the case, isn't it?" 
 
 "If you're going on with it, I don't think you 
 ought to have come to see me." 
 
 "Why not? No one need know I've seen you. I 
 only arrived an hour ago. No one even suspects I'm 
 back in Wairiri yet." 
 
 Ann made no comment on this. But she had seated 
 herself, and the two women faced one another in 
 silence, in the darkening shop. 
 
 "Was it true what you said in your letter?" asked 
 Vera suddenly. 
 
 "You know it was." 
 
 "How should I know? Why should a man like 
 Gerald Waring want to marry you? How often out- 
 side the pages of penny novelettes does the rich 
 bachelor propose to his typist or ... or any poor girl 
 in a subordinate position?" 
 
 "That's not a very kind remark, is it?" said Ann. 
 
 "Why should I be kind to you?" 
 
 "Haven't I shown any consideration for you?" 
 
 "You mean in keeping from Dick the knowledge 
 you imagine you gained of ... of an intrigue between 
 Gerald and me? I wish now you'd spoken. I wish the 
 action for divorce had been brought by Dick." 
 
 Ann was silent, and Vera went on with a certain 
 violence: 
 
 "Gerald always flirts with every attractive woman 
 he comes across but he hasn't any serious idea of
 
 252 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 marriage. You've misconstrued something he has 
 said." She was looking at Ann with burning eyes. 
 "What was it that made you imagine that he ... he 
 really loved you?" 
 
 "Why should I tell you anything further?" an- 
 swered Ann quietly. "All that I wrote in my letter 
 to you was true not only that Gerald Waring wanted 
 to marry me, but that he would never ask you to be 
 his wife now." 
 
 "So he's been discussing me with you?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Holmes, how can you ask that question! 
 Surely a man who would do that would be a ... a 
 pretty shabby sort of person." 
 
 "You've magnified him into a hero, have you?" 
 
 Ann shook her head. 
 
 "I don't see him either as a hero, or an utter black- 
 guard. Need we go on discussing him?" 
 
 Suddenly Vera gripped her hand. 
 
 "I've got to be certain, certain that what you say is 
 true. Oh, my God! It's killing me, this this doubt. 
 I can't go on unless I know the truth." 
 
 "Why don't you ask him then, if you can't believe 
 me?" 
 
 Vera made no reply, and Ann knew that the ques- 
 tion had been cruel; for it was evident, even before 
 she spoke again, that Mrs. Holmes had no knowledge 
 of Waring's present address. 
 
 "Is he here, in Wairiri, now?" 
 
 Ann rose and crossed to her desk. 
 
 "He's in Wellington," she said, "and I had this 
 letter from him this morning. He doesn't call it a love 
 letter and I don't think I'm acting unfairly in show- 
 ing it to you. He owes you more . . . more confidence 
 than he owes me. And I shall never tell him that you
 
 Vera 253 
 
 have seen it, for that would make it plain to him that 
 I know of his . . . his friendship for you. You are the 
 only person in the world who is aware of the . . . 
 knowledge I have and no one else will ever learn it 
 from me." 
 
 She handed Vera the letter, and turned away while 
 the older woman moved towards the window to read 
 it. The screen of short, black curtains hid them from 
 the eyes of passers-by in the street, but above the 
 curtains the evening light filtered grayly into the dim 
 little showroom. For a few minutes the rustling of 
 the paper as Vera turned the sheet was the only sound 
 within the room. Then she laid the letter down on 
 the table beside her. 
 
 "Did he know that you were likely to be mixed up 
 in a divorce case when he wrote that?" she asked, in 
 a strange hard voice. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And he didn't mind?" 
 
 "He didn't believe there was cause for the action 
 any more than you believe it." 
 
 "Have you answered this letter?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "What are you going to say?" 
 
 Ann had already seated herself at her desk. After 
 a moment she rose, and crossing to Vera, handed her 
 a sheet of paper on which a few lines were written. 
 
 "Is this your answer?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Am I to read it?" 
 
 "Please. And perhaps you'd post it for me." 
 
 She addressed an envelope and stamped it, while 
 Vera's eyes passed over the written words. 
 
 She drew a deep breath as she finished reading.
 
 254 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "And so, though he will never know it, my hand 
 will deal him the blow. There's a certain satisfaction 
 in that, at any rate." 
 
 Vera's voice was still unshaken, but it was hard and 
 strained. She took the envelope, and placing the 
 letter within it, sealed the flap. 
 
 "Are you refusing him because because of what 
 you know concerning his friendship, as you call it, for 
 me?" 
 
 "No, he asked me to marry him before that night. 
 The afternoon you all got back from the Wairiri Polo 
 Tournament." 
 
 "Had he been making love to you from the first 
 day of your arrival?" 
 
 "What good can all this discussion do?" 
 
 "You needn't answer my question." 
 
 "If it helps, I'll tell you." 
 
 "Yes, it will help me. Not now, at the moment, 
 perhaps, but later. Do you mind if I sit down again?" 
 
 She sank into a chair, and for a moment Ann, look- 
 ing at her face, so deathly white in the gloom, thought 
 she was going to faint. 
 
 "No, I'm all right," said Vera, as Ann made a move- 
 ment towards her. "Don't come any nearer. I think 
 I'm hating you and Gerald more than I've ever 
 hated any one in my life." 
 
 "You haven't any reason to hate me." 
 
 "Reason reason," repeated Vera, a little wildly. 
 "Do you think this kind of ... of torment has any- 
 thing to do with reason?" She took a deep breath 
 again, and closing her eyes laid her head back against 
 the cushions of the chair. "I wish I could cry," she 
 said at last. "I haven't cried since..." she broke 
 off. "Not even when I was ill in Sydney. They thought
 
 Vera 255 
 
 I was so brave. I wasn't. A fire seemed to be burning 
 my heart out." 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and then Ann 
 said: 
 
 "You want to know all that has ever passed between 
 us Mr. Waring and me. It isn't much. He began a 
 sort of flirtation you could hardly even call it that- 
 soon after my arrival. I never imagined he was in 
 earnest. I don't think he was at that time. Then one 
 night the night of the dance at Omoana, I let him 
 kiss me. I was feeling angry and reckless. I'd just 
 realized that I ... I cared for some one else, and that 
 he was quite indifferent to me." 
 
 "For Dick?" Vera gave a half-hysterical laugh. 
 "That would be the most ironic touch of all." 
 
 "So you admit that you've never believed you had 
 any grounds for your action?" said Ann swiftly. 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Your tone then told me so quite clearly." 
 
 "Never mind the divorce." Vera dismissed that as 
 though it were of no importance. "I don't care who 
 you fancy you love. It might be a good thing if it 
 were Dick. Tell me about Gerald." 
 
 "There's nothing else to tell. He never kissed me 
 again. I've seen him alone on three occasions since 
 then once that afternoon when he came into the 
 kitchen at Tirau, once when he came back from 
 Australia and asked me to morning tea with him at 
 the Imperial, and once at the Fords' house, about a 
 fortnight ago." 
 
 "And each time he asked you to be his wife?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Ann, "and I refused." 
 
 "You've told me everything?" 
 
 "Everything."
 
 256 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Vera gave a long sigh. 
 
 "The mills of God grind slowly," she said at last. 
 "He'll never suffer what I've suffered, but he's paying 
 in part. I'm glad of that." 
 
 It was almost dark now in the little showroom. 
 Near the window one or two hats, perched on their 
 stands, caught the light from a street lamp outside. 
 They looked absurd trivial and incongruous like 
 some ridiculous spectators of this queer scene. It 
 was the sort of background a fantastic dream might 
 have. From without came the rattle of a passing 
 dray, the horn of a motor, the sound of a horse's 
 clattering hoofs. 
 
 The silence within the room was unbroken for so 
 long that Ann wondered if Vera had quietly fallen 
 asleep. But suddenly she spoke. 
 
 "What has happened to ... to Biddy and Jo? Are 
 they still at Mrs. Marley's?" 
 
 "They're spending their holidays at Tirau, with 
 Mr. Holmes. Of course to them nothing is altered 
 except that you aren't there." 
 
 "Were their their small belongings sold their sad- 
 dlesBiddy's old horse " 
 
 "I don't think the bank made any changes. Mr. 
 Holmes got rid of the car and his polo ponies. Just 
 those things, I believe, that weren't included in the 
 mortgage. Mr. Ford believes he may eventually get 
 Tirau back I don't know much about the business 
 part of it." 
 
 She did not mention the fact that Gerald Waring 
 had been instrumental in putting matters on a better 
 footing for Holmes. She would avoid all further ref- 
 erence to the man who had been an utterly disloyal 
 friend, and yet kind after his own fashion.
 
 Vera 257 
 
 "Are the children well?" 
 
 "Quite well. I saw them less than a fortnight ago 
 and Mr. Holmes too. He was out at the hunt." 
 
 "He's able to enjoy himself, then," remarked Vera, 
 dryly. 
 
 "He went more for the children's sake than his own, 
 I imagine. I don't think if you could see him you'd 
 talk about his 'enjoying himself.' But every one says 
 he's been very brave." 
 
 Vera made no comment on this. She did not refer 
 again either to her husband or the children. She still 
 held the letter to Waring in her hand. 
 
 "So this is Gerald's address in Wellington," she 
 said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Was she going to make another effort to see the 
 man who had proved faithless? Ann wondered. But 
 she could not ask. And she could not bring herself to 
 mention the case again. Nothing she could say would 
 be likely to influence Vera now. She was unable to 
 read the older woman's thoughts they were as in- 
 scrutable as ever. Had the knowledge she had gained 
 the absolute certainty that Waring was no longer 
 her lover ended the despairing conflict of her mind? 
 Ann couldn't tell. She knew herself that certainty 
 might in some cases be easier to bear than heart- 
 breaking suspense. 
 
 "I landed in Wellington. I stayed there for one 
 night before coming on to Hawkeston yesterday. And 
 I didn't even know that I was near him could have 
 seen him and spoken to him." 
 
 Vera seemed not so much to be addressing Ann, as 
 thinking aloud. Her voice was low and hard. Did she
 
 258 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 regret not having seen him? Again Ann couldn't be 
 sure. Vera rose. 
 
 "I'm staying at the Imperial tonight." 
 
 "And tomorrow?" 
 
 It was the nearest Ann could get to any question 
 as to Vera's plans. 
 
 "Tomorrow!" echoed Vera, still with the same 
 bitter ring in her voice. "There may be no tomorrow. 
 Oh, I'm not contemplating a dose of poison or any- 
 thing dramatic of that sort. I haven't got the pluck to 
 commit suicide I wish I had." 
 
 She rose, and in the darkness stumbled over a low 
 stool. 
 
 "I'd better turn on the light," said Ann. 
 
 She waited a moment, but as Vera did not again 
 request her not to do so, she moved to the switch, 
 and in a second the little showroom was revealed in a 
 flood of radiance. Clearly now Ann could see the 
 ravages that physical and mental suffering had 
 wrought in Vera's face. She was still handsome, but 
 she looked a wreck of her former self. And yet it 
 seemed to Ann that the eyes were not so wild, the 
 whole figure less tense than it had been at the be- 
 ginning of the interview. "Has it helped her?" Ann 
 asked herself. "Has she at last accepted defeat?" But 
 still she couldn't tell. 
 
 Vera was looking round now at the hats. 
 
 "Have you made a success of this? Oh, I needn't 
 ask. I can see you have. You should thank God you 
 have some work that interests you. It might have 
 saved me any sort of creative effort." She moved 
 across to one of the stands and picked up a hat. 
 "That's pretty." Suddenly she replaced it on the 
 stand, and laughed. But her laughter, to Ann, was
 
 Vera 259 
 
 more sad than tears. "After passion dies and one's 
 life is smashed, clothes can still hold an interest for 
 us. Oh, God, what petty creatures women are!" 
 
 "Life's made up of trivial things. If we lose our 
 grip of those, we're done for." 
 
 Vera made no answer, and Ann, obeying a sudden 
 impulse, went on abruptly: 
 
 "That hat would suit you. Take it. I'd like you 
 to have it." 
 
 She thrust the hat into Vera's hands. Vera remained 
 for a moment holding it, and then suddenly burst 
 into tears. 
 
 The hat rolled on the floor between them, and 
 Vera, covering her face, sank back into the chair from 
 which she had risen. Her whole body was shaken and 
 racked with sobs. In a second Ann was beside her, 
 but Vera thrust aside her clinging hands with a sort 
 of fierce anger. 
 
 "No, no, don't touch me," she gasped out between 
 her sobs. And Ann, repulsed, stood at some little dis- 
 tance helplessly wondering what she could do. 
 
 Nothing, apparently! 
 
 Nothing, but allow Vera to weep on, alone, and un- 
 consoled. But Ann was wise enough to realize that 
 these tears were, as Ford had expressed it, an outlet 
 and a relief for mental suffering. After a little while 
 Vera partially regained her self-control. 
 
 "Of course this has its humorous side," she said 
 with a laugh that was again to Ann heart-rending. 
 "I tell you that I ... hate you, and you offer to present 
 me with a hat." 
 
 "I don't believe you hate me. I've never believed 
 it." 
 
 "But you hate me?"
 
 26o Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "There have been moments when I did, but always 
 I knew those moments wouldn't last." 
 
 "You're one of the forgiving kind I'm not." She 
 rose as she spoke. The storm that had swept her was 
 over. "I'll go now good night." 
 
 In another moment she had passed out of the inner 
 door, through the narrow hall, and was gone. 
 
 What did she mean to do? Still, Ann had no clew 
 as to her intentions. 
 
 2. 
 
 It was half an hour before Ann could get the trunk 
 call through to Omoana, and so on to Tirau; but at 
 last she heard Dick Holmes's familiar voice at the 
 other end of the wire. 
 
 "Holmes speaking." 
 
 "It's Ann Merrill here." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Mrs. Holmes arrived by the service car from 
 Hawkeston today. She has been in to see me." 
 
 There was a long pause, and then Holmes's voice 
 came again. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Both he and Ann knew that there was more than a 
 possibility that the conversation could be overheard. 
 Tirau was on a party line. Any one else on the line, 
 at that moment standing at their telephones, could 
 hear all that passed. 
 
 "I didn't ask her what her plans were. But she's 
 been very ill in Sydney I expect you knew that." 
 (This was for the benefit of any chance listeners.) 
 "She's staying at the Imperial tonight. Is there any
 
 Vera 261 
 
 possibility of your getting down? You've still got the 
 car, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are the roads bad after the rain?" 
 
 "Not too good, but I think I can manage it. Did 
 she ask you to ring me?" 
 
 "No, but I thought I'd let you know, in case she 
 couldn't get through to you." 
 
 "Thanks it's very good of you." 
 
 Again there was another pause. 
 
 "Ought I to call and see you first?" 
 
 "I don't think so. If you go straight to the Imperial, 
 you'll find her there." 
 
 "Can you tell me anything?" 
 
 "No, I don't know any more than you do." 
 
 "Shall I let her know you rang up?" 
 
 "If you like. She won't think it officious of me I'm 
 sure." 
 
 "No, of course not. Very good of you. Saves her 
 the trouble. She's probably been trying to get me." 
 
 "Yes. You'll come?" 
 
 "I'll start right away. With the roads as they are 
 I'm afraid I can't get down till after ten." 
 
 "I don't think that will matter. The tide for the 
 beaches isn't very good. I looked it up in the paper." 
 
 "Thanks. I can come by the inland track if the 
 beach road isn't possible." 
 
 "It's high tide at eleven." 
 
 "Oh, that'll be all right then, unless I'm held up 
 on any of the cuttings." 
 
 "It's quite safe, coming down alone like this at 
 night?" 
 
 "Oh, quite there's a moon, and the weather's 
 clearing."
 
 262 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Don't run any risks." 
 
 "Of course I won't." 
 
 "How are the children?" 
 
 "Very fit." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Ai." 
 
 "Let me know how how Mrs. Holmes is, after 
 you've seen her." 
 
 "Yes. Shall I call or 'phone?" 
 
 "Better telephone, I think." 
 
 "Tonight?" 
 
 "Well" Ann hesitated "you may be able to give 
 me more news in the morning. And you'll have a lot 
 to talk about tonight ... as Mrs. Holmes has been 
 away so long." 
 
 "Yes that's true." 
 
 "Just give me a ring after you arrive in Wairiri. 
 I'd like to know you've got through safely." 
 
 "Right-o! Thanks very much for "phoning." 
 
 "That's all right. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by for the present. I'll call you up later 
 if I get in before eleven." 
 
 "No, at any time I'm working late. Doing 
 wretched accounts." 
 
 "Very well. Good-by." 
 
 Ann hung up her receiver. She had done all she 
 could. The future was in the lap of the gods. What 
 would Vera decide to do? Would she be so anxious 
 to regain her freedom now that she knew without any 
 shadow of doubt that Waring was no longer in- 
 terested in her? Ann had no answer to these ques- 
 tions. Vera was an incalculable being her actions 
 difficult to foretell with any degree of accuracy. 
 
 Ann could only hope that the arrival of Holmes
 
 Vera 263 
 
 his plea to her to abandon the action, and return to 
 him and the children might not be without effect. 
 That Holmes would use every argument to bring this 
 state of things about, Ann had not the least doubt. 
 She was convinced that she had spoken the truth 
 when she said to Vera: "You know that there's only 
 one woman in his life you." Ann did not believe 
 that his love for his wife was imperishable. She 
 doubted if any human love could survive persistent 
 indifference and neglect. But Dick Holmes was one of 
 the steadfast kind the best kind and his affection for 
 Vera would take some killing. It was by no means 
 dead yet. 
 
 In her heart Ann was conscious of a very deep pity 
 for Vera, and she could never rid herself of the belief 
 that in her own queer way the older woman still re- 
 tained a fondness for her Ann Merrill. Vera had 
 been jealous of her, and capable of sacrificing her to 
 gain her own ends, but then Vera had been more than 
 half crazy and desperate during the past few months. 
 Somehow Ann felt assured that sanity had now re- 
 turned to the poor tormented soul. It was a very sad 
 sanity. Vera faced the wreck of all her hopes of happi- 
 ness. They were illusions, those hopes, Ann knew. 
 She would never have found happiness with Waring. 
 And perhaps some day, if she could be induced to 
 return to Holmes, and to her children, more happi- 
 ness might come to her than she was likely to believe 
 possible at the present moment. Now, Ann knew, 
 Holmes's wife was in purgatory, and no one in the 
 world but Ann was aware of her anguish. The fact 
 that Vera had brought this suffering upon herself did 
 not diminish Ann's pity. It was so easy for those who 
 had never been tempted for those of easy, equable
 
 264 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 temperament to throw stones at the more passionate. 
 Nature wasn't fair. She armed some individuals so 
 securely against the slings and arrows of outrageous 
 fortune, and left other so defenseless. 
 
 Ann went to her desk and tried to fix her attention 
 upon invoices and accounts. Her business was grow- 
 ing bigger day by day. Within a week more goods 
 were arriving from London. She must vacate her 
 room at the back of the shop find some other home 
 for herself, in order to secure sufficient accommoda- 
 tion for her staff and the augmented stock. 
 
 If only Vera would abandon the case! Ann knew 
 that if Holmes could tell her this good news within 
 the next few hours a great load would be lifted from 
 her mind. She would no longer feel an outcast, unable 
 to mix with her fellow-citizens. She could make a 
 pleasant home for herself, enjoy all the little gayeties 
 of the town, and form many friendships amongst her 
 warm-hearted neighbors. 
 
 Marriage a happy union children, and a home- 
 was probably the most enviable state the world at 
 present could provide for any woman. But freedom, 
 interesting work, the control of money fairly earned 
 by one's own efforts, were not without their own ad- 
 vantages. Ann knew that she was never likely to 
 reach the fullest development of her individuality 
 the greatest height of happiness alone. Like any 
 other warm-hearted girl, she wanted love, a home to 
 share with her mate, and children. But she was 
 sensible enough to realize that though marriage 
 seemed unlikely to be her lot, she was lucky to have 
 achieved this business success, which meant that the 
 life ahead need not be entirely destitute of happiness 
 and interest.
 
 Vera 265 
 
 If only Vera would disperse this shadow from above 
 her head! Would she? 
 
 Ann returned to her lists of figures, adding, sub- 
 tracting, tallying invoices and stock lists, calculating 
 the percentage of duty, until just before eleven the 
 telephone bell rang. 
 
 Ann crossed the room and took up the receiver. 
 
 "Holmes speaking." 
 
 "You've got down quite safely, then?" 
 
 "Yes. Rather a rough trip, but it's a clear night. 
 You'll have a good day for the steeplechase meeting 
 tomorrow." 
 
 "I'm not going unless " 
 
 "Yes, I understand. I'm ringing from the Imperial 
 just this minute arrived. Vera's upstairs. I haven't 
 seen her yet. I'm just on my way up now." 
 
 "All right. Give her give her my love." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Honest?" 
 
 "Honest. Don't forget." 
 
 "All right. Good night." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 Ann hung up the receiver. What reception would 
 Holmes get from his wife? How would he succeed in 
 his mission? 
 
 Ann realized that in the morning she would learn 
 her fate would know whether the case was to be pro- 
 ceeded with or abandoned.
 
 XV 
 
 Nigger's Victory 
 
 i. 
 
 ANN did not sleep very well that night, and she was 
 already dressed when her telephone bell rang at about 
 seven o'clock next morning. Again it was: 
 
 "Holmes speaking." 
 
 "Yes," said Ann. 
 
 "Just rang up to let you know that Vera and I are 
 making an early start for Tirau." 
 
 Ann's heart seemed to leap up into her throat. In 
 the intensity of her relief she could scarcely speak. 
 
 "I wonder if you'd tell Ford I've written to him? 
 Go round and see him this morning if you've got 
 time, will you?" 
 
 Ann knew what this meant. Ford would tell her 
 what she was to do. 
 
 "Of course I will. How's Mrs. Holmes?" 
 
 "She's had a pretty rough spin I should say she 
 still looks very ill but we'll be able to look after her 
 when we get her back to Tirau. I gave her your 
 message." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "She asked me to thank you, and to tell you she'd 
 decided that she'd like the hat. Don't quite know 
 what she meant, but she seemed to think you'd under- 
 stand." 
 
 266
 
 Nigger's Victory 267 
 
 Yes Ann understood. With a little warm glow at 
 her heart she realized that this was Vera's gesture of 
 reconciliation. 
 
 "I'll post it up to her today." 
 
 "Thanks very much. I say some day soon you'll 
 have to come up and spend a week or two at Tirau 
 with us." 
 
 "Yes, I'd love to later. Hope you'll have a good 
 trip up." 
 
 "I'm sure we shall. It's a wonderful day. Good-by 
 and good luck." 
 
 A "wonderful day"! No other phrase so adequately 
 expressed Ann's feelings at the moment. The shadow 
 was gone! She felt like a prisoner suddenly released. 
 She was free again. Free from suspense, and that 
 haunting worry of the future. She could take her 
 place again amongst her fellow-citizens without the 
 consciousness of furtive glances, and unpleasant whis- 
 pers. Oh, joy, just to be alive today! Even the sorrow 
 of disappointed love seemed to lose its sting in this 
 overwhelming relief of mind. And not only was it for 
 her own sake that she rejoiced. She knew that an im- 
 mense burden of anxiety had been lifted from Dick 
 Holmes's shoulders, and that Vera too was setting 
 her face in the only direction in which she could find 
 any chance of ultimate happiness. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Hill and Ruth arrived, Ann left 
 them in possession, and made her way along to Ford's 
 office. He had already received the letter from 
 Holmes. 
 
 "So the whole matter's going to be dropped," he 
 said. "I felt sure from the first that it would be. A fit 
 of pique on Mrs. Holmes's part in the beginning, I 
 imagine. She was probably jealous of her husband's
 
 268 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 friendship for a young and pretty girl like you. I'm 
 inclined to sympathize a little with her. You're far too 
 good-looking and attractive to be a governess in a 
 country house, you know." 
 
 Ann looked a little hurt. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not saying you gave her any cause for 
 jealousy," went on Ford, "but it's hard for a woman 
 to be continually reminded of her lost youth, and 
 Vera Holmes is a bit passe herself." 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Ann indignantly. "She's wonder- 
 fully handsome." 
 
 "Handsome is as handsome does, and she hasn't 
 'done' very handsomely." 
 
 "We're going to forget about that now," answered 
 Ann. 
 
 "Yes and we've got to see that every one else 
 forgets it too. As a matter of fact, now that Dick and 
 his wife are together again at Tirau there won't be 
 many people who will believe that divorce was ever 
 even contemplated. As far as I can make out the 
 gossip was started by young Marshall Philip Mar- 
 shallin Miller's office; and as Marshall has the repu- 
 tation of a well an embroiderer the majority of 
 those who heard the story will decide that it was 
 merely another of Marshall's sensational yarns. I'll 
 have a talk to Miller myself. He'll settle Marshall. 
 Now don't you worry any more about it. How's busi- 
 ness?" 
 
 "Booming." 
 
 "That's good. You're off to the steeplechase meet- 
 ing today I suppose?" 
 
 "No ... I don't think so." 
 
 "Why not? Your shop isn't open, is it?" 
 
 "No, but . . . well you see, Mrs. Ford did ask me to
 
 Nigger's Victory 269 
 
 go. She very kindly said she had a spare ticket, and a 
 vacant seat in the car, but I said I'd rather not " 
 
 "Because of this gossip? My dear, put all that non- 
 sense out of your pretty, sensible little head once and 
 for all." He rose, and patted her kindly on the 
 shoulder. "I'll ring up Mary this minute, and tell her 
 you're going." 
 
 "But . . ." 
 
 "Wouldn't you like to go? It's a glorious day. The 
 outing will do you good." 
 
 "Mrs. Ford may have given away the ticket." 
 
 "I can soon get another if she has." 
 
 He moved back to the telephone on his table, and 
 after getting the number said: 
 
 "That you, Mary? Miss Merrill is going with you 
 after all ... Yes . . . Yes . . . You'll call for her at 
 eleven-thirty? Right. Here I say, Mary. Vera Holmes 
 arrived back in Wairiri last night. She and Dick left 
 for Tirau early this morning. She's been very ill in 
 Sydney. Pity people haven't anything better to do 
 than putting ridiculous rumors afloat, isn't it?" Evi- 
 dently something was said at the other end, for he 
 laughed. "No, that'd be making too much impor- 
 tance of it. Good-by." 
 
 He turned to Ann as he put down the receiver. 
 
 "Mary says she's now got to do her best to see that 
 you aren't lionized. Run straight away back to your 
 rooms and put on your best bib and tucker. Off you 
 go!" 
 
 Ann tried to thank him for his kindness, but he 
 would not listen to her. 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense I've done no more for you 
 than I'd do for any young woman in Wairiri." 
 
 That was true. Ann knew that he was as large-
 
 270 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 hearted as he was large-minded, but it did not 
 diminish her gratitude. She said "good-by" to him, 
 and hurried home to dress. 
 
 2. 
 
 The band was playing on the lawn in front of the 
 grand stand when Rhoda parked the Buick under the 
 yellowing willows of the members' enclosure. Many 
 other cars were already there, and more arriving. 
 Friends were exchanging greetings, the women eyeing 
 one another's frocks talking over the chances of va- 
 rious horses for the different events making up to- 
 talisator tickets. 
 
 Ann's heart felt like a bird singing in her breast. 
 She had not realized how deeply she had dreaded the 
 threatened ignominy of the case until all danger of it 
 had passed. She was not consciously thinking of 
 Rodney; and yet she knew that he would be here 
 today, and for the time being pushed out of her mind 
 all memory of any emotional scenes between them, 
 and told herself that she was now content to meet 
 him merely as a valued friend, and only wished to 
 rejoice with him in his good fortune when Nigger 
 won the steeplechase. 
 
 Absurd to have felt that sting of jealousy with re- 
 gard to Stephanie! What did it matter to her whom 
 Rodney married? She would be glad to know that 
 he was happy! She would never learn to be utterly 
 indifferent to him; but surely this feeling of affec- 
 tionate regard this desire for his success and happi- 
 nesswasn't anything to be ashamed of, even if it 
 were felt for another woman's husband? Ann told 
 herself that all was well now she had schooled her-
 
 Nigger's Victory 271 
 
 self to look at the whole affair in a sensible, friendly 
 fashion! 
 
 Very few of the "coast" families had come down 
 for the autumn meeting, but Nell Brunton was stay- 
 ing in town, and Harry Kent the young man who 
 had devoted himself to Ann at the Omoana races- 
 was also on the course. As soon as he caught sight of 
 Ann he moved across to speak to her, and remained 
 in attendance for the greater part of the day. Robin 
 Ashby, whom Ann had met at the Ford's house, was 
 also among the race-goers. He, too, was friendly and 
 attentive. Ann had no desire to flirt with either of 
 them, but it was not unpleasant to be admired and 
 popular, and she liked them both. She liked, too, the 
 girls and the young married women who received her 
 in such a kindly fashion, and made her feel at home 
 amongst them all. 
 
 The scene was much the same as it had been at the 
 summer meeting. The sun shone as brightly, though 
 not so warmly; the women's dresses were as attractive, 
 though not so gay and light in texture; the flower 
 beds at the foot of the stand were as full of blooms, 
 though now dahlias and chrysanthemums replaced the 
 roses and tall blue delphiniums; the horses in the 
 saddling paddock were as sleek and shining, and the 
 colors of the jockey's caps and jackets as vivid and 
 brilliant as before. Little was changed. Yet there was 
 one difference of which Ann was acutely aware. 
 Rodney Marsh seemed to have taken his place quite 
 naturally amongst those whom he had once described 
 as "a different crowd." He was accepted as one of 
 them now. He had met various Wairiri residents at 
 the Hawkeston polo tournament others in the hunt- 
 ing field. Apparently most of the girls knew him. Ann
 
 272 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 heard at least three of them ask him to join the big 
 luncheon picnic at the cars. But he had promised to 
 lunch with his trainer and "some other chaps" in the 
 public dining-room, he told them. Ann was glad that 
 he did not seem unduly elated by this sudden rise to 
 social eminence. He was not dropping his own old 
 friends for the sake of new ones. But it was very evi- 
 dent that his attractive personality, and his uncom- 
 mon good looks, had won him an unsought popu- 
 larity. He was an "owner" too. Nigger was believed 
 to have a very good chance for the steeplechase. 
 
 Though Ann had stood near to Rodney in the 
 crowd in front of the stand more than once, she had 
 never actually caught his eye. She could not be sure 
 that he had even seen her. And so, as the day wore 
 on, although she was enjoying herself, her spirits 
 flagged a little. Marsh had spent some of his time with 
 Stephanie and her friends. He had even taken them 
 down to the saddling paddock to see Nigger in his 
 loose-box. Surely he might have invited her to whom 
 he had first confided the secret of Nigger's future 
 career as a "chaser" to join the party? But he didn't. 
 He seemed utterly unaware of her presence on the 
 course. 
 
 Ann told herself that the day was not quite so 
 enjoyable to her as the former race meetings had 
 been, because she wasn't backing winners. She had 
 not succeeded in collecting one winning ticket from 
 the totalisator. But the few pounds she was losing she 
 would retrieve on the steeplechase at three o'clock. 
 She had no doubt at all in her mind as to the result 
 of the race. Rodney had said Nigger would win, and 
 she still had implicit faith in his judgment in such 
 matters. She remembered that hot summer afternoon
 
 Nigger's Victory 273 
 
 when she had sat at his bedside in the little front 
 room of the cottage at Tirau. Again she heard herself 
 saying, "I shall put ten pounds on him." They had 
 been talking of the Grand National then. No matter! 
 She would back him for the same sum today! 
 
 But as her thoughts traveled back to that bygone 
 moment, her heart knew a pang of anguish! She could 
 see again the handsome head on the pillows, the 
 vista of sunshine lying on the neglected garden out- 
 side the open window the wide, sun-dried paddocks 
 stretching out beyond. Oh, happy days! And they 
 were gone! The half-glimpsed dream, and glamour of 
 first love was never to be realized! Fool! to allow her- 
 self this backward sentimental glance. It had all 
 meant less than nothing. But she did not mention 
 to any one the amount she intended to invest on 
 Marsh's horse; and she would not allow any one else 
 to put the money on for her. She took her place in 
 the queue waiting at the narrow entrance to the 
 booking office of the totalisator, and secured her 
 tickets. Then she rejoined Kent and Nell Brunton, 
 and made her way back to the stand to watch the 
 race. 
 
 "Marsh stands to win or lose a good deal over this 
 event," said Kent, as they walked across the lawn. 
 "He's not only backing his horse on the machine, but 
 with the bookies as well." 
 
 "I thought bookmakers weren't allowed in New 
 Zealand," said Ann. 
 
 Kent laughed. 
 
 "They're as illegal as whisky dealers in U.S.A. 
 during Prohibition but they're just as numerous, and 
 do just as big a business." 
 
 "Funny to find Rodney Marsh going to people's
 
 274 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 houses in Wairiri, isn't it?" said Nell to Ann. "You 
 remember him at Tirau, don't you? He never went 
 anywhere then." 
 
 "Does he go out much here?" asked Ann, casually. 
 
 Nell Brunton laughed. 
 
 "I think he dodges as many invitations as he can, 
 but the Garland girls are crazy about him. Still, I 
 don't fancy he wastes much time on any one, except 
 Stephanie Hemingway. I wonder if Mrs. Ford likes 
 it that friendship." 
 
 "He's a good chap," said Kent. 
 
 "Yes, but he isn't quite " 
 
 "Quite what?" asked Kent, looking down at Nell 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Well educated, or " 
 
 "Just as well educated as the rest of us." 
 
 "His father was a plowman." 
 
 "One or two of our Prime Ministers haven't been 
 any better born." 
 
 "He isn't a Prime Minister." 
 
 "He may be some day. How do you know?" 
 
 They continued to argue quite amiably, but Ann 
 took no part in the discussion. What did it matter to 
 her what his father had been, or what he himself 
 might eventually become? It was more Stephanie 
 Hemingway's business apparently than hers. 
 
 The horses were cantering down to the starting- 
 post. Kent lent Ann his glasses to pick them out. 
 Green jacket and orange cap those were the colors 
 of Nigger's jockey easy to distinguish in the distance. 
 Against the horse's shining black coat they suddenly 
 reminded her of the coloring of her own bright show- 
 room. She wondered if Marsh had chosen them for
 
 Nigger's Victory 275 
 
 that reason. Absurd! Yet it was a queer coincidence. 
 A lucky omen. 
 
 At the post Nigger gave no trouble. He got away 
 cleanly and well as the barrier went up. Ann knew 
 a thrill of pride in the gallant old horse. He was so 
 steady and unperturbed so ready to respond to any 
 call made upon him. He was galloping strongly, and 
 jumping in good style as they passed the judges' 
 box for the first time. Three horses were ahead of 
 him, but Ann felt no anxiety as to his ultimate chance 
 of victory. He was so sure and safe he gave one the 
 impression of having full confidence in his own power 
 to win. He was gradually overhauling the three in 
 front of him as the horses passed away behind a 
 belt of trees, further from the stand. Again they 
 came in sight, and Nigger had gained to second place. 
 
 A horse coming through from the ruck behind, had 
 begun to challenge his position. But Nigger still held 
 it, though the distance between himself and the 
 leader had lengthened. As the race progressed, no 
 further change was apparent, and when they were 
 swinging round for the last two fences before enter- 
 ing the straight, and the run for home, Ann began 
 to fear that Nigger could never make up the leeway 
 between himself and the first horse before they passed 
 the judges' box. The rest of the field were beaten 
 the race lay between the first three horses, and now 
 Opou in the lead seemed a certain winner. The 
 crowd in the stand were already beginning to shout: 
 "Opou! Opou wins!" But at the last fence but one, 
 Opou blundered, and came down. He and his jockey 
 were up in a moment, but the race was over for them. 
 It had resolved itself now into a struggle between 
 Nigger and the third horse, Acepot. They jumped the
 
 276 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 last fence almost together, and neck and neck came 
 thundering down the straight. The whips were out 
 on both horses. Ann's heart was beating wildly. 
 Could Nigger win? The crowd were alternately roar- 
 ing "Nigger wins!" "Acepot" "Nigger," as they 
 raced on. 
 
 But suddenly with a chill pang of apprehension 
 Ann was aware that Nigger's effort was unavailing. 
 He had a great heart he'd never say die he'd battle 
 on gamely to the end answer gallantly to any call 
 made upon him, but ... he was rolling in his stride 
 his speed was checked! He stumbled on, then stag- 
 gered, and then fell. The jockey was thrown clear 
 a length ahead; Acepot passed the judges' box alone, 
 and the rest of the field came after. But Nigger lay 
 as he had fallen quite still. 
 
 The jockey was back, standing over him the crowd 
 surged out over the green turf of the course. The 
 police were trying to keep them back. Rodney Marsh 
 was there some of the racing officials and then in 
 the little ring the police had cleared, Ann saw the 
 body of the old black horse dragged out beyond the 
 rails, to the spot where so short a time before he'd 
 cleared the sod wall and the water jump with such a 
 gallant stride. 
 
 Ann couldn't look any more. Her eyes were 
 blurred. She knew before she heard the murmurs 
 round about her that Nigger had run his last race- 
 that he was dead. Oh, poor, poor, Rodney! His best 
 friend that's what he'd called Nigger. And to lose 
 him like this to know that the horse had struggled 
 up to the end to do all that was required of him. He 
 had been set too great a task, but he'd done his best
 
 Nigger's Victory 277 
 
 all he could and he'd given up his life in the at- 
 tempt. 
 
 Ann wanted to go home, and yet more than any- 
 thing else she wanted to see Rodney. She knew what 
 he was suffering, and she seemed to be aware of all the 
 remorse and unavailing regret that now he would 
 carry in his heart. It wasn't regret for the money lost. 
 He'd killed his best friend that's what Rodney would 
 feel instinctively she knew it. 
 
 But though it was pronounced "horrid" or "rather 
 pathetic," the death of a steeplechaser was not a very 
 great tragedy to the rest of the race-goers; and Ann 
 did not let any of her friends suspect how greatly it 
 had affected her. She was thankful that some one 
 had covered the body of the dead horse with a tar- 
 paulin. To watch the two last races with Nigger's 
 shining body stiff and still beyond the railings would 
 have been more than she could bear. And though 
 she was less inclined to smile, for the rest of the after- 
 noon she talked quite cheerfully and "made up" 
 tickets with Rhoda and Nell Brunton, or Mrs. Ford, 
 and did not endeavor to find Rodney. She did not 
 even see him, and it was only when going home in 
 the car that she had any news of him. 
 
 "Wasn't it hard luck for Rodney Marsh?" said 
 Stephanie. "They say he's lost an awful lot of money 
 as well as his horse. The Garlands wanted him to 
 come with us all to the Cabaret tonight, but he 
 wouldn't. I wish he'd promised to come. It would 
 have cheered him up." 
 
 "Was he ... very upset?" asked Ann. 
 
 "Oh, no, not exactly upset; he was laughing over 
 his bad luck with Robin and me, but all the same I 
 expect he feels it."
 
 278 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 Ann said nothing. She thought she knew how 
 much the "laughing over his bad luck" meant. 
 Rodney wasn't likely to wear his heart on his sleeve. 
 
 She refused Mrs. Ford's invitation to dine with 
 them. 
 
 "Thank you so much, but there are business letters 
 I must write for the English mail," she said. "And 
 I'm up to my eyes in accounts too. It was awfully 
 good of you to take me out today. I enjoyed it tre- 
 mendously." That was true of the first part of the 
 day, at any rate. 
 
 In her own room she made herself a cup of tea, but 
 she couldn't eat. The thought of Rodney, and the 
 grief which she knew he was enduring, possessed her 
 mind to the exclusion of every other thought. She 
 tried to write her letters, but she could not concen- 
 trate upon them. She must see Rodney! She must! 
 She wanted to tell him that she suffered with him in 
 his sorrow wanted to bring him what little comfort 
 she could. 
 
 It was eight o'clock when she went to the tele- 
 phone, and rang up the Imperial. No, Mr. Marsh was 
 not staying at the hotel. No, they couldn't say where 
 she would be likely to find him. 
 
 She tried one or two other places without success. 
 
 At each failure she grew more and more desperate. 
 The desire to get into touch with Rodney grew 
 stronger and more insistent. Now the importance of 
 finding him, of speaking to him alone, became an 
 overwhelming obsession. 
 
 At last she gained news of him. At the Puawa 
 Hotel they told her that he had been in earlier. They 
 didn't know if he were still on the premises. They 
 would go and see. While she waited, Ann knew that
 
 Nigger's Victory 279 
 
 she was shaking from head to foot, and when at last 
 Rodney's voice came to her over the telephone, she 
 stammered so much that at first he could not under- 
 stand what she said. 
 
 "I want to see you. Will you come round?" 
 
 "To your rooms?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a long pause Ann knew a sudden 
 anguish. Would he make an excuse? Plead some en- 
 gagement? 
 
 "All right. I'll come along now," he said at last. 
 
 Ten minutes later she heard his knock, and went to 
 open the door. 
 
 "You wanted to see me?" 
 
 "Yes, come in for a little while." 
 
 He followed her into the lighted showroom, and 
 they stood there facing one another. 
 
 Ah! Would she have been deceived as Stephanie 
 had been by his laughter? Deep in his eyes she saw the 
 pain. 
 
 "Rodney . . . my dear I'm so sorry." 
 
 He turned away with a little bitter gesture. 
 
 "I loved that horse." 
 
 "I know you did. . . . Oh, poor Rodney!" 
 
 "And I killed him. The vet says he strained his 
 heart. He was too old. And he was so game he 
 wouldn't give in oh, God!" 
 
 He suddenly sank down on the cushioned lounge, 
 and buried his face in his hands. Ann came and sat 
 beside him. 
 
 "Don't grieve so much, Rodney," she said gently. 
 "It's got to come to all of us death. And he died 
 well gallantly poor old Nigger." 
 
 "Yes, but I'd looked after him when I first got him
 
 28o Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 he was such a poor sick brute then and I swore 
 he'd never be treated cruelly again. And now I've 
 been more cruel than any one forcing the game old 
 chap to attempt something he couldn't do. He tried 
 his best he wouldn't give in" he stopped, and then 
 went on "I stayed behind, and we buried him just 
 there where he was. I couldn't bear throwing the 
 earth over him. It ... it hurt me." 
 
 Suddenly Ann leaned forward and put her arm 
 round him. 
 
 "I wish I could help you," she said. 
 
 "You have helped me," he muttered huskily. 
 "Just to speak about it has been a comfort. I 
 couldn't have talked about him to any one but you. 
 You're . . . kind. And you liked the old horse too . . ." 
 
 For a few moments both were still, and then he 
 put aside her hands. 
 
 "I oughtn't to have come here tonight." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't know ... I ..." He hesitated, and then 
 he said: "Why are you so good to me?" 
 
 "I love you," she answered simply. 
 
 He gathered her into his arms, and held her close 
 his head on her breast. 
 
 "Heaven ... to be here ... at last," his voice was 
 just a whisper. 
 
 "Why have you left me ... so long?" 
 
 "Oh! I've been muddled wrong-headed. I didn't 
 want to marry. And now I can't." 
 
 He released her, and sat back. 
 
 "Why not? Is it because of the case?" 
 
 "Oh, damn the case! That makes no difference- 
 it never has except that I've been jealous." 
 
 "You hadn't any cause. And now that shadow's
 
 Nigger's Victory 281 
 
 gone. Mrs. Holmes is back at Tirau. Did you 
 know?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No, but I'm glad, for your sake." 
 
 "Do you love me, Rodney?" 
 
 "You know it." 
 
 "How should I know it when you've treated me as 
 you have?" 
 
 "I've been a fool. First I thought I couldn't give 
 up my freedom. And then, when I knew you meant 
 everything to me, I told myself it wouldn't work 
 our marriage. You're too good for me. I've always 
 known that in my heart, though I wouldn't admit it. 
 I fought against it. I'm just a rough sort of chap, and 
 I've never been very steady. And I thought Holmes 
 wanted you " 
 
 "He'd never have wanted me." 
 
 "Wouldn't he? I think he would. And Waring, 
 didn't he ask you too? Well, what sort of a match 
 would I have been compared to them? You said 
 yourself " 
 
 "Ah! Don't bring that up against me all that I've 
 said," she answered swiftly. "You wounded my pride 
 when you told me that you didn't want to marry 
 me and I said things that perhaps I didn't alto- 
 gether mean things to hurt you." 
 
 "It was true what you said about the difference 
 between us. Your friends weren't mine. But I made 
 up my mind that I could know the same sort of 
 people you know." 
 
 "Oh, it's so small, all that!" 
 
 "I know it is. And it was small of me wanting 
 to show you." 
 
 "Well, you've done it isn't that enough?"
 
 282 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "It's not enough to make a certainty of any mar- 
 riage between us being a success. There are plenty 
 of differences between us still." 
 
 "Couldn't we bridge those differences? Make al- 
 lowances for one another?" 
 
 "I don't know whether we could or not." He rose. 
 "Anyhow, what's the use of discussing it? We aren't 
 going to get married." 
 
 "Why do you say that?" 
 
 "Because there can't be any question of it any 
 more." 
 
 "Why?" A sudden fear shook her. "Have you 
 bound yourself to some one else? Stephanie Hem- 
 ingway?" 
 
 "A childl Why should I want her? She's been 
 friendly a good little pal, that's all." 
 
 "That other woman at Omoana?" 
 
 "There is no other woman now. Oh, I remember 
 telling you there were plenty of women in the world. 
 There aren't for me. There never have been since 
 that day only you " 
 
 "And yet you won't marry me?" 
 
 "I can't," he repeated stubbornly. 
 
 "You still won't sacrifice your freedom?" 
 
 "Oh, to hell with my freedom!" he returned 
 fiercely. "I'm not free any longer. You've bound me 
 fast enough. It isn't that." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 "I've nothing to offer you no home to give you. 
 You told me once I'd gamble my money away. I've 
 done it. I thought today I'd make my fortune- 
 come to you with enough to buy a place in the 
 country. I've lost everything."
 
 Nigger's Victory 283 
 
 She crossed to him, and put her hands on his 
 breast. 
 
 "Money is that all? What does it matter?" 
 
 "We must have bread to eat. Do you think I'd 
 ask you to live in a drover's hut?" 
 
 "I'd be happy there with you." 
 
 He made a movement as though to take her in his 
 arms again, and then drew back. 
 
 "I wish that was true." 
 
 "It is true." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "For the minute, perhaps, you think it is. You've 
 said yourself that marriage between us two wouldn't 
 be a simple job. Do you think poverty would make 
 it easier?" 
 
 "There needn't be poverty. Listen, Rodney I 
 have my business here. I'm making money every 
 week I'm doing better. I've got to take a little house 
 somewhere in town. You've been offered this job of 
 stock-buying or even as a drover you've got to live 
 somewhere." 
 
 "Do you mean that I'm to live on your money?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 "We'd live together on our own money." 
 
 "No." 
 
 She put her arms round him. 
 
 "Rodney, Rodney," she said a little wildly, "are 
 you going to let your foolish stubborn pride come 
 between us a second time? Oh, my dear, I know that 
 marriage will be difficult for us there are plenty of 
 rocks ahead but, darling, isn't it better to be to- 
 gether on the ship, taking our chance of danger- 
 sharing it than drifting all alone?" 
 
 He tried to put her arms aside.
 
 284 Wild, Wild Heart 
 
 "Let me go." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Oh, to get drunk. I don't care! That's what I 
 meant to do when you rang up." 
 
 "Listen. It hurts your pride to be dependent on 
 a woman even one you love. You won't be depend- 
 ent. You'll have your own work. You'll do well I 
 know you will. And later we'll buy a place some- 
 where and be together again in the country. Oh, 
 how I'd love that you and I, Rodney, in our own 
 little homestead. And you'd teach me how to be a 
 sheep-farmer, though I'm such a duffer at all those 
 things you know about. Oh, my dear, you do need 
 me! I can help you, I know I can. You said tonight 
 I'd comforted you a little about poor old Nigger. I 
 loved him too. He was so brave and honest and so 
 are you. And if you leave me now I can't bear it. I 
 can't go through it again. I've been so lonely 
 so wretched wanting you . . . always wanting you. 
 Rodney " 
 
 Suddenly she burst into tears. 
 
 In a second his arms had closed round her. He 
 was holding her close close, his lips on hers. 
 
 He was a lost man.
 
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 young love 
 ant romf 
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