Now, Winston had been gratified by his first success, and was about to venture on the answer that it was impossible to forget; but when he turned towards the very stately young woman in the long black dress whose eyes had a sardonic gleam, and wondered whether he had ever seen anybody so comely or less inclined to be companionable, it was borne in upon him that any speech of the kind would be distinctly out of place.  Accordingly, and because there was no hand held out in this case, he contented himself with a little bend of his head.  Then he was presented to the Colonel, who was distantly cordial, and Winston was thankful when the maid appeared in the doorway again, to announce that dinner was ready, Miss Barrington laid her hand upon his arm.

“You will put up with an old woman’s company tonight?” she said.

Winston glanced down deprecatingly at his attire.  “I must explain that I had no intention of trespassing on your hospitality,” he said.  “I purposed going on to my own homestead, and only called to acquaint Colonel Barrington with my arrival.”

Miss Barrington laughed pleasantly.  “That,” she said, “was neither dutiful nor friendly.  I should have fancied you would also have desired to pay your respects to my niece and me.”

Winston was not quite sure what he answered, but he drew in a deep breath, for he had made the plunge and felt that the worst was over.  His companion evidently noticed the gasp of relief.

“It was something of an ordeal?” she said.

Winston looked down upon her gravely, and Miss Barrington noticed a steadiness in his eyes she had not expected to see.  “It was, and I feel guilty because I was horribly afraid,” he said.  “Now I only wonder if you will always be equally kind to me.”

Miss Barrington smiled a little, but the man fancied there was a just perceptible tightening of the hand upon his arm.  “I would like to be, for your mother’s sake,” she said.

Winston understood that while Courthorne’s iniquities were not to be brought up against him, the little gentle-voiced lady had but taken him on trial; but, perhaps because it was so long since any woman had spoken kindly words to him, his heart went out towards her, and he felt a curious desire to compel her good opinion.  Then he found himself seated near the head of the long table, with Maud Barrington on his other hand, and had an uncomfortable feeling that most of the faces were turned somewhat frequently in his direction.  It is also possible that he would have betrayed himself, had he been burdened with self-consciousness, but the long, bitter struggle he had fought alone, had purged him of petty weaknesses and left him the closer grasp of essential things, with the strength of character which is one and the same in all men who possess it, whatever may be their upbringing.

During a lull in the voices, Maud Barrington, who may have felt it incumbent on her to show him some scant civility, turned towards him as she said, “I am afraid our conversation will not appeal to you.  Partly because there is so little else to interest us, we talk wheat throughout the year at Silverdale.”