South of Capricorn by Anne Hampson Page A

the father of Leta. ‘You’re obviously intending to admit that this little girl is yours?’ she added, speaking her thoughts aloud.
    Kane Farrell’s sudden smile was ironic. He deliberately allowed her question to go by unanswered.
    ‘Please say what you have to say, Miss Stafford.’ His horse was a little distance away, cropping grass, and Leta was now interestedly watching it.
    Gail explained as briefly as possible, making no effort to keep the contempt from her voice. This could not escape him and several times his eyes glinted with anger. He appeared dangerous and Gail had to give herself an impatient shake on finding herself affected by an access of trepidation.
    ‘So her mother died three weeks ago?’ Kane Farrell’s eyes hardened to points of steel. Gail stared, bewildered by his manner. Yet he was apparently puzzled about something, for he shook his head from side to side, for the moment seeming to have forgotten her presence altogether. ‘And she made you promise to bring this child to her father?’
    ‘Yes, that’s what I’ve said. She left sufficient money for the journey—it was a legacy she received from our aunt. But even had she not left money I would have brought Leta to you.’ She paused a second, but he made no attempt to speak and she continued, ‘She’s had a dreadful time, Mr. Farrell, trying to bring up this little girl. It wasn’t only the keeping of her, but the managing of her. Poor Sandra was utterly worn out—’
    ‘There you go again!’ cut in Leta, red in the face with anger. ‘Everybody says I’m naughty and wicked!’
    ‘Which of course is correct,’ commented Kane Farrell mildly. ‘You must learn to control your temper, my child.’
    Leta put out her tongue, but then she smiled at him, and her whole expression changed. She looked positively attractive, and even cuddlesome.
    ‘You’ll have to be very firm with her,’ Gail was recommending. ‘Perhaps a man can do something with her—’ She spread her hands in a little helpless gesture. ‘I don’t know — I really do not know!’ A tinge of despair edged her voice and he turned to her with interest. She flushed, much to her annoyance. But this man from the Outback, this bronzed and toughened cattleman whose very appearance spoke of the great outdoors, overwhelmed her with his dominant personality, his lofty confidence, his air of superiority. She resented this attitude of his and in consequence allowed her contempt to be revealed in her expression. It was defensive, but his eyes glinted and she saw his fist close, slowly and menacingly. A quiver of awe passed through her and she wished she had seen the end of this interview and was safely aboard the Overlander and on her way home.
    ‘Her mother could have done something, surely?’ he said frowningly.
    ‘She tried, but Leta became unmanageable. It might be of interest to you, Mr. Farrell, to know that, in the end, my cousin lost the will to live.’
    His frown deepened.
    ‘How old was she?’ he inquired, and it did seem that a look of pain fleetingly crossed the tough but handsome face.
    ‘How old?’ Gail stared at him scathingly. ‘You should know! She must have told you how old she was! When she died she was not quite twenty-three!’
    His dark brows contracted.
    ‘Be careful,’ he warned in a cold and measured tone. ‘People don’t usually speak to me in that manner.’
    She lowered her head, annoyed with herself that she should be intimidated by so quiet a voice. But Kane Farrell was so disconcerting, his very lack of emotion set her off balance. She had expected an angry out burst, and an attempted denial that the child was his. Instead she had met this air of calm, adopted without the slightest effort after that first astounded exclamation on suddenly being brought face to face with his daughter.
    Gail spoke, unable to bear the silence any longer.
    ‘If there are any more questions you wish to ask, Mr. Farrell,’ she said in stiff and formal