ook as if he meant to take
advantage of her ignorance about mining matters and her trust. It would
not disturb him if outsiders thought this, but she might come to think
so.

Besides, he was not going to be supported by his wife's money. In view
of their characters, the situation would be humiliating for both. Agatha
might learn to despise him, which would be intolerable.

Then he felt a touch on his shoulder and got up with a start. Agatha
stood close by and he thought there was more color in her face than
usual, although her eyes were calm.

"Brooding over our good luck?" she said with a smile. "Isn't that a
curious attitude?"

"The good luck is yours."

"If you insist on the difference, but I don't know that it's kind!
Besides, I wanted to give you half my frontage on the vein."

"That's quite impossible," said Thirlwell firmly.

"Why is it impossible?"

"It would look as if I'd meant to take advantage of your generosity."

"Does it matter how the thing would look?"

"Yes," said Thirlwell, who hesitated. "I want to keep your good
opinion--if I have it."

Agatha smiled, but her glance was soft. "I won't flatter you, because I
think you ought to know. But why are you moody? I'd expected you to be
sympathetic to rejoice with me."

"For your sake, I am glad."

"But not for yours?"

"I haven't quite got used to the situation yet," Thirlwell answered
awkwardly. "You see, I never expected to find the ore."

"That was rather obvious," Agatha rejoined with some dryness. "But if
you thought we would be disappointed, why did you come?"

Thirlwell was silent. He did not mean to admit that he had thought a
sharp disappointment would be good for her and might save her worse
pain. It was difficult to state this properly. Then if he owned that he
had come for the pleasure of her society, she might misunderstand him
and he might say too much. Agatha was half amused by his embarrassment,
but was moved all the same, for she understood more than he knew.

"We'll let it go," she resumed. "Still, I don't see why you should be
disturbed by my success."

"One often feels sorry when one finishes a big job. It means one has
come to the end of things one has got used to and likes."

"But this is rather the beginning than the end."

"No," he said moodily. "We have had a glorious trip, but it's done with.
You will go back to the cities; there are only two or three months when
a civilized girl can live in the woods. The