“Why do you say all this now, dearest?  Have you thought—­”

“Yes, a little.  The child is fond of him.  I did think she once cared for Louis—­as a young girl cares for a boy.  But we couldn’t permit her to take any chances, poor fellow!—­his family record is sadly against him.  No; we did right, Neville.  And now, at the first sign, we must do right again between Shiela and this very lovable boy who is making your park for you.”

“Of course,” said Cardross absently, “but the man who hesitates because of what he learns about Shiela isn’t worth enlightening.”  He looked out across the lawn.  “I hope it happens,” he said.  “And, by the way, dear, I’ve got to go to town.”

“O Neville!”

“Don’t worry; I’m not going to contract pneumonia—­”

“When are you going?”

“To-morrow, I think.”

“Is it anything that bothers you?”

“No, nothing in particular.  I have a letter from Acton.  There seems to be some uncertainty developing in one or two business quarters.  I thought I’d see for myself.”

“Are you worrying?”

“About what?”

“About the Shoshone Securities Company?”

“Not exactly worrying.”

She shook her head, but said nothing more.

During February the work on the Cardross estate developed sufficiently to become intensely interesting to the family.  A vast circular sunken garden, bewitchingly formal, and flanked by a beautiful terrace and balus trade of coquina, was approaching completion between the house and an arm of the lagoon.  The stone bridge over the water remained unfinished, but already, across it, miles of the wide forest avenue stretched straight away, set at intervals by carrefours centred with fountain basins from which already tall sparkling columns of water tumbled up into the sunshine.

But still the steam jets puffed up above the green tree-tops; and the sickening whine of the saw-mill, and the rumble of traction engines over rough new roads of shell, and the far racket of chisel and hammer on wood and stone continued from daylight till dark.

Every day brought to Hamil new questions, new delays, vexations of lighting, problems of piping and drainage.  Contractors and sub-contractors beset him; draughtsmen fairly buried him under tons of drawings and blue-prints.  All of which was as nothing compared to the labour squabbles and endless petty entanglements which arose from personal jealousy or political vindictiveness, peppered with dark hints of peonage, threats, demands, and whispers of graft.

The leasing of convict labour for the more distant road work also worried him, but the sheriffs of Dade and Volusia were pillars of strength and comfort to him in perplexity—­lean, soft-spoken, hawk-faced gentlemen, gentle and incorruptible, who settled scuffles with a glance, and local riots with a deadly drawl of warning which carried conviction like a bullet to the “bad” nigger of the blue-gum variety, as well as to the brutish white autocrat of the turpentine camps.