He made a sign of assent.

So in a quiet, even voice, she began with an account of her family and early surroundings, more detailed than anything she had yet given him.  She described her father (the striking apostolic head of the old man hung on the wall behind her) and his missionary journeys through the prairie settlements in the early days of Alberta; how, when he was old and weary, he would sometimes take her, his latest child, a small girl of ten or twelve, on his pastoral rounds, for company, perched up beside him in his buggy; and how her mother was killed by the mere hardships of the prairie life, sinking into fretful invalidism for two years before her death.

“I nursed her for years.  I never did anything else—­I couldn’t.  I never had any amusements like other girls.  There was no money and no time.  She died when I was twenty-four.  And three months after, my father died.  He didn’t leave a penny.  Then my brother asked me to go and live with him and his wife.  I was to have my board and a dress allowance, if I would help her in the house.  My brother’s an awfully good sort—­but I couldn’t get on with his wife.  I just couldn’t!  I expect it was my fault, just as much as hers.  It was something we couldn’t help.  Very soon I hated the sight of her, and she never missed a chance of making me feel a worm—­a useless, greedy creature, living on other people’s work.  If only there had been some children, I dare say I could have borne it.  But she and I could never get away from each other.  There were no distractions.  Our nerves got simply raw—­at least mine did.”

There was a pause.  She lifted her brown eyes, and looked at Ellesborough intently.

“I suppose my mother would have borne it.  But girls nowadays can’t.  Not girls like me, anyway.  Mother was a Christian.  I don’t suppose I am.  I don’t know what I am.  I just had to live my own life.  I couldn’t exist without a bit of pleasure—­and being admired—­and seeing men—­and all that!”

Her cheeks had flushed.  Her eyes were very bright and defiant.

Ellesborough came nearer to her, put out a strong hand and enclosed hers in it.

“Well then—­this man Delane—­came to live near you?”

He spoke with the utmost gentleness, trying to help her out.

She nodded, drawing her hand away.

“I met him at a dance in Winnipeg first—­the day after I’d had a horrid row with my sister-in-law.  He’d just taken a large farm, with a decent house on it—­not a shack—­and everybody said his people were rich and were backing him.  And he was very good-looking—­and a Cambridge man—­and all that.  We danced together almost all the evening.  Then he found out where I lived, and used to be always coming to see me.  My brother never liked him.  He said to me often, ’Why do you encourage that unprincipled cad?  I’m certain there’s a screw loose about him!’ And I wasn’t in love with Roger—­not really—­for one moment.  But I think he was in love with me—­yes, I’m sure he was—­at first.  And he excited and interested me.  I was proud, too, of taking him away from other girls, who were always running after him.  And my sister-in-law was just mad to get rid of me!  Don’t you understand?”