She arose from her chair, feeling cramped and restless from sitting so long.

“I’m sure you haven’t changed, Bernal.”

“Oh, I must have!”

He was looking at her very closely through the dusk.

“Yes, we had an interesting talk,” he said again.

He reached out to take one of her hands, which he held an instant in both his own.  “He’s a rare old Allan, Nance!”

CHAPTER XIII

THE WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS OF THE GREAT MACHINE

For three days the brothers were inseparable.  There were so many ancient matters to bring forward of which each could remember but a half; so many new ones, of which each must tell his own story.  And there was a matter of finance between them that had been brought forward by Allan without any foolish delay.  Each of them spoke to Nancy about it.

“Bernal has pleased me greatly,” said her husband.  “He agrees that Grandfather Delcher could not have been himself when he made that will—­being made as it was directly after he sent Bernal off.  He finds it absurd that the old man, so firm a Christian, should have disinherited a Christian, one devoted to the ministry of Jesus, for an unbeliever like Bernal.  It is true, I talked to him in this strain myself, and I cannot deny that I wield even a greater influence over men than over women.  I dare say I could have brought Bernal around even had he been selfish and stubborn.  By putting a proposition forward as a matter of course, one may often induce another to accept it as such, whereas he might dispute it if it were put forward as at all debatable.  But as a matter of fact he required no talking to; he accepted my views readily.  The boy doesn’t seem to know the value of money.  I really believe he may decide to make over the whole of the property to me.  That is what I call a beautiful unselfishness.  But I shall do handsomely by him—­probably he can use some money in that cattle business.  I had thought first of ten thousand dollars, but doubtless half that will be wiser.  I shall insist upon his taking at least half that.  He will find that unselfishness is a game two can play at.”

Nancy had listened to this absently, without comment.  Nor had Bernal moved her to speech when he said, “You know, Allan is such a sensitive old chap—­you wouldn’t guess how sensitive.  His feelings were actually hurt because I’d kept him out of grandad’s money all these years.  He’d forgotten that I didn’t know I was doing it.  Of course the old boy was thinking what he’d have done in my place—­but I think I can make it right with him—­I’m sure now he knows I didn’t mean to wrong him.”

Yet during this speech he had shot furtive little questioning looks at her face, as if to read those thoughts he knew she would not put into words.

But she only smiled at Bernal.  Her husband, however, found her more difficult than ever after communicating his news to her.  He tried once to imagine her being dissatisfied with him for some reason.  But this attempt he abandoned.  Thereafter he attributed her coldness, aloofness, silence, and moodiness to some nervous malady peculiar to the modern woman.  Bernal’s presence kept him from noting how really pronounced and unwavering her aversion had become.