was satisfied when Mrs. Cartwright agreed,
since he refused to wear spectacles and own his sight was going.
Although Clara was generous, he could not use her money, and, indeed,
did not mean to do so, but he was extravagant and his managing owner's
post was not secure. When one had powerful antagonists, one did not
admit that one was getting old.

"I doubt if Shillito's character is all one could wish,'" Mrs.
Cartwright resumed. "Character's very important, don't you think? Mrs.
Grant--the woman with the big hat--knows something about him and she
said he was _fierce_. I think she meant he was wild. Then she hinted he
spent money he ought not to spend. But isn't a treasurer's pay good?"

Cartwright smiled, for he was patient to his wife. "It depends upon the
company. A treasurer is sometimes a book-keeping clerk. However, the
trouble is, Barbara's as wild as a hawk, though I don't know where she
got her wildness. Her brother and sister are tame enough."

"Sometimes I'm bothered about Barbara," Mrs. Cartwright agreed. "She's
rash and obstinate; not like the others. I don't know if they're tame,
but they had never given me much anxiety. One can trust them to do all
they ought."

Cartwright said nothing. As a rule, Clara's son and elder daughter
annoyed him. Mortimer Hyslop was a calculating prig; Grace was finicking
and bound by ridiculous rules. She was pale and inanimate; there was no
blood in her. But Cartwright was fond of the younger girl. Barbara was
frankly flesh and blood; he liked her flashes of temper and her pluck.

When the canoe came to the landing he got up. "Leave the thing to me,"
he said. "I'll talk to Shillito."

He went off, but when he reached the steps to the veranda in front of
the hotel he stopped. His gout bothered him. At the top Mortimer Hyslop
was smoking a cigarette. The young man was thin and looked bored; his
summer clothes were a study in harmonious colors, and he had delicate
hands like a woman's. When he saw Cartwright stop he asked: "Can I help
you up, sir?"

Cartwright's face got red. He hated an offer of help that drew attention
to his infirmity, and thought Mortimer knew.

"No, thanks! I'm not a cripple yet. Have you seen Shillito?"

"You'll probably find him in the smoking room. The card party has gone
in and he's a gambler."

"So am I!"

Mortimer shrugged, and Cartwright wondered whether the fellow meant to
imply that his gambling was not important since he had married a