Part 13 (1/2)
”It would have been his fault,” Castoon said venomously.
”You don't seem to like him,” she said smiling.
”I hate any man who looks at you as he does.”
”How does he look?” she asked with an air of innocence.
”He looks at you as if he was in love with you, and I hate any man to do that.”
”You have no right to resent it Mr. Castoon,” she said coldly. ”I have told you a hundred times that you concern yourself far too much with my affairs.”
”I'm going to marry you,” he said doggedly. ”I never fail. Look at my life history and see where I have been beaten. I know you don't care for me yet. You'll have to later.”
”My father doesn't care for you either.”
Rudolph Castoon sniffed impatiently.
”His type is dying out. He still remains ignorant that money has displaced birth.”
”It's the one thing money won't buy, though,” she reminded him.
”Birth can't buy power,” the financier said quickly, ”and money means power. Your father has had both. It would have been easier for me to marry Daphne, daughter of the Earl of Rosecarrel, Viscount St. Just, Baron Wadebridge, Knight of the Garter, and Amba.s.sador to Turkey, and all the rest of it, than it will be to marry you now your father has abandoned his career.”
”That sounds merely silly to me,” she exclaimed.
”Someday I will explain to you how very sensible it is. You will understand exactly.”
”Do you mean you are so inordinately vain you would rather marry an amba.s.sador's daughter than the daughter of a man who isn't a power politically any more?”
”At least I can say I don't mean that. I am vain, that's true, but I wish you were one of the daughters of a tenant farmer on these purple moors instead of being an earl's daughter.” He sighed a little. Then the recollection of Anthony Trent came back. ”Who is this man Trent?” he demanded.
”A delightful man,” she said, ”an American who knows how to behave. I met him at a houseparty somewhere or other. He used to know Arthur.”
Castoon could not keep back a sneer.
”That vouches for him of course.”
”At least he wouldn't say anything as underbred as that,” she cried angrily, and touched one of her high-mettled chestnuts with a lash.
Castoon hung on to the seat as the pair tried to get away.
”You'll kill yourself some day driving such horses as these,” he said later. He was not a coward; but unnecessary risk always seemed a childish thing to create and he believed himself heir to a great destiny.
CHAPTER SIX
_FRESH FIELDS_
If Anthony Trent thought he was to be the guest at a small luncheon party where he could meet Arthur under friendlier circ.u.mstances and talk to Daphne intimately, he was mistaken.