at did not become him. It seemed to
her that he was shallow and lacking in comprehension. Once she found
herself comparing him with another man. She broke off that train of
thought abruptly, and once more endeavored to find the explanation in
herself. Weariness had produced this captious, hypercritical fit, and by
and by she would become used to him, she said.

Hawtrey was, at least, not effusive, for which she was thankful. When
they reached a smoother stretch of road he began to talk of England.

"I suppose you saw a good deal of my folks when you were at the Grange,"
he said.

"No," answered Agatha, "I saw them once or twice."

"Ah!" he replied, with a trace of sharpness, "then they were not
particularly agreeable?"

It seemed to Agatha that he was tactless in suggesting anything of the
kind, but she replied candidly.

"One could hardly go quite so far as that," she told him. "Still, I
couldn't help a feeling that it was rather an effort for them to be
gracious to me."

"They did what they could to make things pleasant when they were first
told of our engagement."

Agatha was too weary to be altogether on her guard. His relatives'
attitude had wounded her, and she answered without reflection.

"I have fancied that was because they never quite believed it would lead
to anything."

She knew this was the truth now, though it was the first time the
explanation had occurred to her. Gregory's relatives, who were naturally
acquainted with his character, had not expected him to carry out his
promise. She felt that she had been injudicious in what she told him
when she heard his harsh laugh.

"I'm afraid they never had a very great opinion of me," he remarked.

"Then," said Agatha, looking up at him, "it will be our business to
prove them wrong; but I can't help feeling that you have undertaken a
big responsibility, Gregory. There must be so much that I ought to do,
and I know so little about your work in this country." She turned, and
glanced with a shiver at the dim, white prairie. "The land looks so
forbidding and unyielding. It must be very hard to turn it into wheat
fields--to break it in."

It was merely a hint of what she felt, and it was rather a pity that
Hawtrey, who lacked imagination, usually contented himself with the most
obvious meaning of the spoken word. Things might have gone differently
had he responded with comprehending sympathy.

"Oh," he said, with a laugh that changed her mood, "you'l