icance in the fact that she knew just where to find
it. The picture was a good one, and once more Maud Barrington noticed
the arrogance, which did not, however, seem out of place there in the
lad's face. It was also a comely face, but there was a hint of
sensuality in it that marred its beauty. Then with a growing
perplexity she compared it with that of the weary man who had plodded
beside the team. Winston was not arrogant, but resolute, and there was
no stamp of indulgence in his face. Indeed, the girl had from the
beginning recognized the virility in it that was tinged with asceticism
and sprang from a simple strenuous life of toil in the wind and sun.

Just then there was a rustle of fabric, and she laid down the
photograph a moment too late, as her aunt came in. As it happened, the
elder lady's eyes rested on the picture, and a faint flush of annoyance
crept into the face of the girl. It was scarcely perceptible, but Miss
Barrington saw it, and though she felt tempted, did not smile.

"I did not know you were down," she said. "Lance is still asleep. He
seemed very tired."

"Yes," said the girl. "That is very probable. He left the railroad
before daylight, and had driven round to several farms before he came
to Macdonald's, and he was very considerate. He made me take all the
furs, and, I fancy, walked up and down all night long, with nothing on
but his indoor clothing, though the wind went through the building, and
one could scarcely keep alive a few feet from the stove."

Again the faint flicker of color crept into the girl's cheek, and the
eyes that were keen as well as gentle noticed it.

"I think you owe him a good deal," said Miss Barrington.

"Yes," said her niece, with a little laugh which appeared to imply a
trace of resentment. "I believe I do, but he seemed unusually anxious
to relieve me of that impression. He was also good enough to hint that
nothing he might have done need prevent me being--the right word is a
trifle difficult to find--but I fancy he meant unpleasant to him if I
wished it."

There was a little twinkle in Miss Barrington's eyes. "Are you not a
trifle hard to please, my dear? Now, if he had attempted to insist on
a claim to your gratitude you would have resented it."

"Of course," said the girl reflectively. "Still, it is annoying to be
debarred from offering it. There are times, aunt, when I can't help
wishing that Lance Courthorne had never come to Silverdale.