He came to a stand on the opposite side of the table, watching her.
He was quite well aware that Matilda Merston did not like him. She
had never scrupled to let him know it. The whirr of the machine
rose between them. She was working fast and furiously.
He waited with absolute patience till she flung him a word. "Sit
down!"
He seated himself facing her.
Faster and faster spun the wheel. Matilda's thin lips were
compressed. Tiny beads appeared on her forehead. She was
breathing quickly. Suddenly there was a check, a sharp snap. She
uttered an impatient sound and stopped, looking across at her
visitor with undisguised hostility in her eyes.
"I didn't do it," said Burke.
She got up, not deigning a reply. "I suppose you'd like a drink,"
she said. "Bill is out on the lands."
His eyes comprehended her with a species of grim amusement. "No.
I won't have anything, thanks. I have come for my wife. Can you
tell me where she is ?"
"You're very early," Matilda remarked again.
He leaned his arms upon the table, looking up at her. "Yes. I
know. Isn't she up?"
She returned his look with obvious disfavour. And yet Burke Ranger
was no despicable figure of manhood sitting there. He was broad,
well-knit, well-developed, clean of feature, with eyes of piercing
keenness.
He met her frown with a faint smile.
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