“But—­what should I do at the fort?” he asked.  “How can I see you again?”

She smiled with a touch of scorn at his simplicity.  “That is for you to contrive.  You will naturally call on my father; if he likes you, he will bring you home to dinner.”

Ambrose smiled with obscure meaning.  “He will never do that,” he said.

“Why not?” demanded Colina.

“My partner and I are free-traders,” he explained; “the only free-traders of any account in the Company’s territory.  Naturally they are bitter against us.”

“But business is one thing and hospitality another,” said Colina.

“You do not know what hard feeling there is in the fur trade,” he suggested.

“You do not know my father,” she retorted.

“Only by reputation,” said Ambrose.

The shade of meaning in his voice was not lost on her.  Her cheeks became warm.  “All white men who come to the post dine with us as a matter of course,” she said.  “We owe you the hospitality.  I invite you now in his name and my own.”

“I would rather you asked him about me first,” said Ambrose.

This made Colina really angry.  “I do not consult him about household matters,” she said stiffly.

“Of course not,” said Ambrose; “but in this case I would be more comfortable if you spoke to him first.”

“Are you afraid of him?” she inquired with raised eyebrows.

“No,” said Ambrose coolly; “but I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Colina’s eyes snapped.  “Thank you,” she said; “you needn’t be anxious.  You had better come—­we dine at seven.”

“I will be there,” he said.

By this time she was mounted.  As she gave Ginger his head Ambrose deftly caught her hand and kissed it.  Colina was not displeased.  If it had been self-consciously done she would have fumed.

She rode home with an uncomfortable little thought nagging at her breast.  Was he really so simple as she had decided?  Had he not baited her into losing her temper—­and insisting on his coming to dinner?  Surely he could not know her so well as that!

“Anyway, he is coming!” she thought with a little gush of satisfaction she did not stop to examine.  “I’ll wear evening dress, the black taffeta, and my string of pearls.  At my own table it will be easier—­and with father there to support me!  We will see!”

CHAPTER VI.

The dinner.

Colina did not see her father until he came home from the store for dinner.  She was already dressed and engaged in arranging the table.

John Gaviller’s eyes gleamed approvingly at the sight of her in her finery.  Black silk became Colina’s blond beauty admirably.  Manlike, he arrogated the extra preparations to himself.  He thought it was a kind of peace offering from Colina.

“Well!” he began jocularly, only to check himself at the sight of three places set at the table.  “Who’s coming?” he demanded with natural surprise.