your mind. So far she has remained in Stanwicke's town house, and all Charles Town is agog with her beauty. But she goes to Stanwicke Hall shortly."
"That's better," said Lachlan. "We are getting the story now and I perceive you know all that's worth knowing. And your pardon, old friend, for my jest about the ale. You will tell me of this lady for friendship's sake and because of the days we've spent together."
Momentarily the hunter's gray-blue eyes, deep-set under shaggy white brows, twinkled humorously. Yet his countenance was grave.
"It might be better if I told you nothing," he muttered under his breath.
He fell silent a moment; then continued more briskly:
"Listen, lad. Take my word for it, you will not like this girl, this Jolie Stanwicke. She is proud and overbearing and short-tempered. She has been much in London, and holds herself a great lady, and all that she has seen in Charles Town she laughs to scorn."
"She did not laugh to scorn," Lachlan said thoughtfully, "a Prince of the Muskogee Nation and a Chief of the Family of the Wind. Nay, the titles seemed to please her. And though she saw him defeated, she was gracious enough to call him—behind his back—a handsome youth and a fearless one, and to praise him for the fight he had made."
Almayne seemed struck by a sudden thought.
