o talk about matters of no particular
consequence, as he usually did. There was, as she had noticed, a vein
of almost poetic imagination in this man, and his idea that she had
been with him through the snow of the lonely ranges and the gloom of
the great forests of the Pacific slope appealed to her, merely as a
pretty fancy, in particular. He had, however, of late very seldom
given it rein, and sitting close beside him among the yielding hay she
decided that it was wiser to let him talk about his farm.

"But you have a foreman who could see the teams turned out, haven't
you?" she said.

"I had, but he left me three or four days ago. It's a pity in several
ways, since I've taken up rather more than I can handle this year."

"Then why didn't you keep him?"

There was a certain grimness in Wyllard's laugh. "Martial was a little
muleish, and I'm afraid I'm troubled with a shortness of temper now and
then. We had a difference of opinion as to the best way to drive the
mower into the sloo, and he didn't seem to recognise that he should
have deferred to me. Unfortunately, as the boys were standing by, I
had to insist upon him getting out of the saddle."

He had turned a little further towards her, and Agatha noticed that
there was a bruise upon one side of his face. After what he had just
told her the sight of it jarred upon her, though she would not admit
that there was any reason why it should do so. She could not deny that
on the prairie a resort to physical force might be warranted by the
lack of any other remedy, but it hurt her to think of him descending to
an open brawl with one of his men.

Then it occurred to her that the other man had in all probability
suffered more, and this brought her a certain sense of satisfaction
which she admitted was more or less barbarous. She had made it clear
that Wyllard was nothing to her, but she could not help watching him as
he lay among the hay. His wide hat set off his bronzed face, which,
though not exactly handsome, was pleasant and reassuring--she felt that
was the best word--to look at. The dusty shirt and old blue trousers,
as she had already noticed, accentuated the long, clean lines of his
figure, and she realised with a faint sense of anger that his mere
physical perfection, his strength and suppleness, appealed to her.
This was, she recognised, an almost repugnant thing, a feeling to be
judiciously checked, but it would obtrude itself. After all, in spite