“There are few better men than my brother, though he is not clever,” she said, and dropped her voice a little.  “As to the other, he died in India—­beside his mountain gun—­long ago.”

“And you have never forgotten?  He must have been worth it—­I wonder if loyalty and chivalric faith belong only to the past,” said the girl, reaching up a rounded arm and patting her aunt’s thin hand.  “And now we will be practical.  I fancied the head of the settlement looked worried when he met me, and he is not very proficient at hiding his feelings.”

Miss Barrington sighed.  “I am afraid that is nothing very new, and with wheat steadily falling and our granaries full, he has cause for anxiety.  Then the fact that Lance Courthorne has divided your inheritance and is going to settle here has been troubling him.”

“The first is the lesser evil,” said the girl, with a little laugh.  “I wore very short frocks when I last saw Lance in England, and so far as I can remember he had the face of an angel and the temper of a devil.  But did not my uncle endeavor to buy him off, and—­for I know you have been finding out things—­I want you to tell me all about him.”

“He would not take the money,” said Miss Barrington, and sat in thoughtful silence a space.  Then, and perhaps she had a reason, she quietly recounted Courthorne’s Canadian history so far as her brother’s agents had been able to trace it, not omitting, dainty in thought and speech as she was, one or two incidents which a mother might have kept back from her daughter’s ears.  Still, it was very seldom that Miss Barrington made a blunder.  There was a faint pinkness in her face when she concluded, but she was not surprised when, with a slow, sinuous movement, the girl rose to her feet.  Her cheeks were very slightly flushed, but there was a significant sparkle in her eyes.

“Oh,” she said, with utter contempt.  “How sickening!  Are there men like that?”

There was a little silence, emphasized by the snapping in the stove, and if Miss Barrington had spoken with an object she should have been contented.  The girl was imperious in her anger, which was caused by something deeper than startled prudery.

“It is,” said the little white-haired lady, “all quite true.  Still, I must confess that my brother and myself were a trifle astonished at the report of the lawyer he sent to confer with Lance in Montana.  One would almost have imagined that he had of late been trying to make amends.”

The girl’s face was very scornful.  “Could a man with a past like that ever live it down?”

“We have a warrant for believing it,” said Miss Barrington quietly, as she laid her hand on her companion’s arm.  “My dear, I have told you what Lance was, because I felt it was right that you should know; but none of us can tell what he may be, and if the man is honestly trying to lead a different life, all I ask is that you should not wound him by any manifest suspicion.  Those who have never been tempted can afford to be merciful.”