“You bet we’ll fix that heathen devil before we go,” he said.  “You bet we will—­sweetheart!”

XVIII

Wallie, suffering the outrage of one who sees his dinner growing cold, found Keith and Mary Josephine in the edge of the golden birch and implored them to come and eat.  It was a marvel of a dinner.  Over Mary Josephine’s coffee and Keith’s cigar they discussed their final plans.  Keith made the big promise that he would “fix Shan Tung” in a hurry, perhaps that very afternoon.  In the glow of Mary Josephine’s proud eyes he felt no task too large for him, and he was eager to be at it.  But when his cigar was half done, Mary Josephine came around and perched herself on the arm of his chair, and began running her fingers through his hair.  All desire to go after Shan Tung left him.  He would have remained there forever.  Twice she bent down and touched his forehead lightly with her lips.  Again his arm was round her soft little waist, and his heart was pumping like a thing overworked.  It was Mary Josephine, finally, who sent him on his mission, but not before she stood on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, giving him her mouth to kiss.

An army at his back could not have strengthened Keith with a vaster determination than that kiss.  There would be no more quibbling.  His mind was made up definitely on the point.  And his first move was to head straight for the Kirkstone house on the hill.

He did not get as far as the door this time.  He caught a vision of Miriam Kirkstone in the shrubbery, bareheaded, her hair glowing radiantly in the sun.  It occurred to him suddenly that it was her hair that roused the venom in him when he thought of her as the property of Shan Tung.  If it had been black or even brown, the thought might not have emphasized itself so unpleasantly in his mind.  But that vivid gold cried out against the crime, even against the girl herself.  She saw him almost in the instant his eyes fell upon her, and came forward quickly to meet him.  There was an eagerness in her face that told him his coming relieved her of a terrific suspense.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at the Shack when you came, Miss Kirkstone,” he said, taking for a moment the hand she offered him.  “I fancy you were up there to see me about Shan Tung.”

He sent the shot bluntly, straight home.  In the tone of his voice there was no apology.  He saw her grow cold, her eyes fixed on him staringly, as though she not only heard his words but saw what was in his mind.

“Wasn’t that it, Miss Kirkstone?”

She nodded affirmatively, but her lips did not move.

“Shan Tung,” he repeated.  “Miss Kirkstone, what is the trouble?  Why don’t you confide in someone, in McDowell, in me, in—­”

He was going to say “your brother,” but the suddenness with which she caught his arm cut the words short.

“Shan Tung has been to see him—­McDowell?” she questioned excitedly.  “He has been there today?  And he told him—­” She stopped, breathing quickly, her fingers tightening on his arm.