After that I felt more comfortable over my own confession.  Before we were called to supper every one in the house, including the Mexicans about headquarters, knew that Cotton and I were soon to be married.  And all during the evening the same subject was revived at every lull in the conversation, though Deweese kept constantly intruding the corral building and making inquiries after the hunt.  “What difference does it make if we hunted or not?” replied Uncle Lance to his foreman with some little feeling.  “Suppose we did only hunt every third or fourth day?  Those Wilson folks have a way of entertaining friends which makes riding after hounds seem commonplace.  Why, the girls had Glenn and Aaron on the go until old man Nate and myself could hardly get them out on a hunt at all.  And when they did, provided the girls were along, they managed to get separated, and along about dusk they’d come slouching in by pairs, looking as innocent as turtle-doves.  Not that those Wilson girls can’t ride, for I never saw a better horsewoman than Susie—­the one who took such a shine to Scales.”

I noticed Miss Jean cast a reproving glance at her brother on his connecting the name of Susie Wilson with that of his vagabond employee.  The mistress was a puritan in morals.  That Scales fell far below her ideal there was no doubt, and the brother knew too well not to differ with her on this subject.  When all the boys had retired except Cotton and me, the brother and sister became frank with each other.

“Well, now, you must not blame me if Miss Susie was attentive to Aaron,” said the old matchmaker, in conciliation, pacing the room.  “He was from Las Palomas and their guest, and I see no harm in the girls being courteous and polite.  Susie was just as nice as pie to me, and I hope you don’t think I don’t entertain the highest regard for Nate Wilson’s family.  Suppose one of the girls did smile a little too much on Aaron, was that my fault?  Now, mind you, I never said a word one way or the other, but I’ll bet every cow on Las Palomas that Aaron Scales, vagabond that he is, can get Susie Wilson for the asking.  I know your standard of morals, but you must make allowance for others who look upon things differently from you and me.  You remember Katharine Vedder who married Carey Troup at the close of the war.  There’s a similar case for you.  Katharine married Troup just because he was so wicked, at least that was the reason she gave, and she and you were old run-togethers.  And you remember too that getting married was the turning-point in Carey Troup’s life.  Who knows but Aaron might sober down if he was to marry?  Just because a man has sown a few wild oats in his youth, does that condemn him for all time?  You want to be more liberal.  Give me the man who has stood the fire tests of life in preference to one who has never been tempted.”