“You’re in Mr. Fitch’s office, are you?” she inquired.

“Not now; but I was there for a time.  I happened to call on Mr. Fitch this evening and he asked me to bring the deed over.”

“Let me see, I don’t believe I know any Harwoods here.”

“I haven’t been here long enough to be known,” answered Dan, looking up and smiling.

Mrs. Owen removed her hat and tossed it on a little stand, as though hats were a nuisance in this world and not worthy of serious consideration.  She continued her observation of Dan, who was applying a blotter to his signature.

“I’ll have to take this to my office to affix the seal.  I’m to give it to Mr. Wright in the morning for recording.”

“Where is your office, Mr. Harwood?” she asked flatly.

“Boordman Building,” answered Dan, surprised to find himself uncomfortable under her direct, penetrating gaze.

“Humph!  So you’re Morton Bassett’s young man who was written up in the ‘Advertiser.’”

“Mr. Bassett has given me a chance to read law in his office.  He’s a prominent man and the ‘Advertiser’ chose to put its own interpretation on his kindness to me.  That’s all,” answered Dan with dignity.

“Sit still a minute.  I forget sometimes that all the folks around here don’t know me.  I didn’t mean to be inquisitive, or disagreeable; I was just looking for information.  I took notice of that ‘Advertiser’s’ piece because Mr. Bassett married my niece, so I’m naturally interested in what he does.”

“Yes, Mrs. Owen, I understand.”

Dan had heard a good deal about Mrs. Sally Owen, in one way or another, and persuaded now, by her change of tone, that she had no intention of pillorying him for Bassett’s misdeeds, he began to enjoy his unexpected colloquy with her.  She bent forward and clasped her veined, bony hands on the table.

“I’m glad of a chance to talk to you.  It’s providential, your turning up this way.  I just came to town yesterday and Edward Thatcher dropped in last night and got to talking to me about his boy.”

“Allen?”

Dan was greatly surprised at this turn of the conversation.  Mrs. Owen’s tone was wholly kind, and she seemed deeply in earnest.

“Yes, I mean Allen Thatcher.  His father says he’s taken a great shine to you.  I hardly know the boy, but he’s a little queer and he’s always been a little sickly.  Edward doesn’t know how to handle him, and the boy’s ma—­well, she’s one of those Terre Haute Bartlows, and those people never would stay put.  Edward’s made too much money for his wife’s good, and the United States ain’t big enough for her and the girls.  But that boy got tired o’ gallivanting around over there, and he’s back here on Edward’s hands.  The boy’s gaits are too much for Edward.  He says you and Allen get on well together.  I met him in the bank to-day and he asked me about you.”

“I like Allen;—­I’m even very fond of him, and I wish I could help him find himself.  He’s amusing”—­and Dan laughed, remembering their first meeting—­“but with a fine, serious, manly side that you can’t help liking.”