“Grant’s a staunch friend, and I’m more impressed with Flora every time I see her,” said the lad.  “She’s pleasant to talk to, she can harness and handle a team with any one; but for all that, you recognize a trace of what I can only call the grand manner in her.  Though I understand that she has been to the old country, it’s rather hard to see how she got it.”

George signified agreement.  Miss Grant was undoubtedly characterized by a certain grace and now and then by an elusive hint of stateliness.  It was a thing quite apart from self-assertion; a gracious quality, which he had hitherto noticed only in the bearing of a few elderly English ladies of station.

“I suppose you thanked her for that seed?” Edgar resumed.

“I said I was grateful to her father.”

“I’ve no doubt you took the trouble to mark the distinction.  It might have been more considerate if you had divided your gratitude.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hardly likely that the idea of helping you in that particular way originated with Alan Grant, though I shouldn’t be surprised if he had been allowed to think it did.”

George looked surprised and Edgar laughed.

“You needn’t mind.  It’s most improbable that Miss Grant either wished or expected you to understand.  She’s a very intelligent young lady.”

“It strikes me that you talk too much,” George said severely.

He went out, feeling a little disturbed by what Edgar had told him, but unable to analyze his sensations.  Putting on his furs, he proceeded to look around the stable, as he had fallen into a habit of doing before he went to rest.  There was a clear moon in the sky, and although the black shadow of the buildings stretched out across the snow, George on approaching one noticed a few footprints that led toward it.  There were numerous other tracks about, but he thought that those he was looking at had been made since he had last entered the house.  This, however, did not surprise him, for Flett had recently visited the stable.

On entering the building, George stopped to feel for a lantern which was kept on a shelf near the door.  The place was very dark and pleasantly warm by contrast with the bitter frost outside, and he could smell the peppermint in the prairie hay.  Familiar sounds reached him—­the soft rattle of a shaking rope, the crackle of crushed straw—­but they were rather more numerous than usual, and while he listened one or two of the horses began to move restlessly.

The lantern was not to be found; George wondered whether Flett had carelessly forgotten to replace it.  He felt his way from stall to stall, letting his hand fall on the hind quarters of the horses as he passed.  They were all in their places, including Flett’s gray, which lashed out at him when he touched it; there was nothing to excite suspicion, but when he reached the end of the row he determined to strike a match and look for the lantern.