I could have liked
him, but that was all," she said. "He was nice to look at and did all
the little things gracefully; but he had never done anything else,
never would, and, I fancy, had never wanted to. Now a man of that kind
would very soon pall on me, and I should have lost my temper trying to
waken him to his responsibilities."

"And what kind of man would please you?"

Maud Barrington's eyes twinkled, but the fact that she answered at all
was a proof of the sympathy between herself and the questioner. "I do
not know that I am anxious any of them should," she said. "But since
you ask, he would have to be a man first: a toiling, striving animal
who could hold his own amidst his fellows wherever he was placed.
Secondly, one would naturally prefer a gentleman, though I do not like
the word, and one would fancy the combination a trifle rare, because
brains and birth do not necessarily tally, and the man educated by the
struggle for existence is apt to be taught more than he ever would be
at Oxford or in the army. Still, men of that stamp forget a good deal,
and learn so much that is undesirable, you see. In fact, I only know
one man who would have suited me, and he is debarred by age and
affinity--but, because we are so much alike, I can't help fancying that
you once knew another."

The smile on Miss Barrington's face, which was still almost beautiful
as well as patient, became a trifle wistful.

"There are few better men than my brother, though he is not clever,"
she said, and dropped her voice a little. "As to the other, he died in
India--beside his mountain gun--long ago."

"And you have never forgotten? He must have been worth it--I wonder if
loyalty and chivalric faith belong only to the past," said the girl,
reaching up a rounded arm and patting her aunt's thin hand. "And now
we will be practical. I fancied the head of the settlement looked
worried when he met me, and he is not very proficient at hiding his
feelings."

Miss Barrington sighed. "I am afraid that is nothing very new, and
with wheat steadily falling and our granaries full, he has cause for
anxiety. Then the fact that Lance Courthorne has divided your
inheritance and is going to settle here has been troubling him."

"The first is the lesser evil," said the girl, with a little laugh. "I
wore very short frocks when I last saw Lance in England, and so far as
I can remember he had the face of an angel and the temper of a devil.
But di