Winston smiled at her.  “I think I am wise.  I must feel my way.”

Miss Barrington was won, and, making no further protest, signed to Dane.  “You will take Mr. Courthorne home with you,” she said.  “I would have kept him here, but he is evidently anxious to talk over affairs with some one more of his age than my brother is.”

Dane appeared quite willing, and, an hour later, Winston sat, cigar in hand, in a room of his outlying farm.  It was furnished simply, but there were signs of taste, and the farmer who occupied it had already formed a good opinion of the man whose knowledge of his own profession astonished him.

“So you are actually going to sell wheat in face of the Colonel’s views?” he said.

“Of course!” said Winston simply.  “I don’t like unpleasantness, but I can allow no man to dictate my affairs to me.”

Dane grinned.  “Well,” he said, “the Colonel can be nasty, and he has no great reason for being fond of you already.”

“No?” said Winston.  “Now, of course, my accession will make a difference at Silverdale, but I would consider it a friendly act if you will let me know the views of the colony.”

Dane looked thoughtful.  “The trouble is that your taking up the land leaves less for Maud Barrington than there would have been.  Barrington, who is fond of the girl, was trustee for the property, and after your—­estrangement from your father—­everybody expected she would get it all.”

“So I have deprived Miss Barrington of part of her income?”

“Of course,” said Dane.  “Didn’t you know?”

Winston found it difficult to answer.  “I never quite realized it before.  Are there more accounts against me?”

“That,” said Dane slowly, “is rather a facer.  We are all more or less friends of the dominant family, you see.”

Winston laid down his cigar and stood up.  “Now,” he said, “I generally talk straight, and you have held out a hand to me.  Can you believe in the apparent improbability of such a man as I am in the opinion of the folks at Silverdale getting tired of a wasted life and trying to walk straight again?  I want your answer, yes or no, before I head across the prairie for my own place.”

“Sit down,” said Dane with a little smile.  “Do you think I would have brought you here if I hadn’t believed it?  And, if I have my way, the first man who flings a stone will be sorry for it.  Still, I don’t think any of them will—­or could afford it.  If we had all been saints, some of us would never have come out from the old country.”

He stopped and poured out two glasses of wine.  “It’s a long while since I’ve talked so much,” he said.  “Here’s to our better acquaintance, Courthorne.”

After that they talked wheat-growing and horses, and when his guest retired Dane still sat smoking thoughtfully beside the stove.  “We want a man with nerve and brains,” he said.  “I fancy the one who has been sent us will make a difference at Silverdale.”