“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I was hoping you would, because I felt I must tell you, and I’m not good at talking,” said the man.  “I can’t help seeing that you are vexed with me.”

If Alton had intended to be conciliatory he had signally failed, because Miss Deringham had no intention of admitting that anything he could do would cause her anger.

“I am afraid you are taking things for granted,” she said.

Alton smiled gravely, and the girl noticed that he accepted the onus of the explanation she had forced upon him.

“I really don’t think you should be,” he said.  “I can’t help being Tristan Alton’s grandson, you see, and we are some kind of relations and ought to be friendly.”

Miss Deringham laughed a little.  “Relations do not always love each other very much,” said she.

“No,” said Alton.  “Still, I think they should, and, even if it hurts, I feel I’ve got to tell you I’m sorry.  If you would only take it, it would please me to give you back Carnaby.”

The girl almost gasped with astonishment and indignation.  “That is a trifle unnecessary, since you know it is perfectly impossible,” she said.

She had at last roused the man, for the moonlight showed a darker colour creeping into his tan.  “I don’t usually say more than I mean,” he said.  “Now we shall never understand each other unless you will talk quite straight with me.”

Alice Deringham had not lost her discretion in her anger, and, since there was no avoiding the issue, decided it would be preferable to blame him for the lesser of his offences.

“Then,” she said coldly, “it was somewhat difficult to appreciate the humour of the trick you played upon us.  You may, however, have different notions as to what is tasteful in the Colonies.”

Again the darker colour showed in Alton’s bronzed forehead, but he spoke gravely.  “I don’t think that’s quite fair,” he said.  “I am what the Almighty made me, a plain bushman who has had to work too hard for his living to learn to put things nicely, but I never came down to any meanness that would hurt a woman, and there isn’t any need for a dainty English lady to point out the difference between herself and me.”

“There may be less difference than you seem to fancy,” said the girl a trifle maliciously.  “You are Alton of Carnaby.”

“Pshaw!” said the man with a little gesture of pride and impatience, which Miss Deringham was forced to admit became him.  “I’m Alton of Somasco, and nobody gave it me.  I won it from the lake and the forest that comes crawling in again—­but I’m getting off the trail.  I didn’t know your father was coming here, and hadn’t any notion who you were.”

“That’s curious, because he wrote to tell you,” said the girl.

Alton flushed a little, for he was somewhat quick-tempered, and too proud to be otherwise than a veracious man.  “Well,” he said slowly, “I have the honour of telling you I didn’t get the letter.  There’s a place called Somasco down in Vancouver.”