oined. "Well, for the most
part, I have been a slave to my notions of efficiency and order since I
was a boy; but at times other feelings rebelled. Then I, so to speak,
ran loose and broke things, like the rest of mankind. Moreover, I'm
not repentant when I look back on the short-lived outbreaks. They gave
me some satisfaction; after all, the Dearham blood is what Canadian Jim
would probably call red. I don't know what color yours is, unless you
like to think it blue."

Mordaunt said nothing. Bernard was often bitter, particularly when he
had gout. When a servant came to help the old man in, Mordaunt went to
the library where he wrote a note to Jim. He paused once or twice
during its composition. Now he had time to ponder, he began to doubt
if it was advisable to let Jim visit Dryholm and imagined he could so
turn a polished phrase that it would keep him away. Mordaunt was
clever at delicate implication and Jim's blood was red. Perhaps,
however, it was not prudent to use his talent, since Bernard might want
to see the note.

CHAPTER IV

AN OLD MAN'S CAPRICE

Jim went to Dryholm, although when he opened Mordaunt's note he meant
to refuse. A line added in a shaky hand persuaded him, for Bernard had
written, "I am lame and cannot come to you." Besides, the invitation
was extended to his party and Jim wanted Bernard to see the Winters.
They were his friends and he rather hoped Mrs. Winter would talk about
the store.

The evening was calm and the sun setting when the car rolled past a
lodge half hidden by tall evergreens. A screen of ironwork cut in fine
black tracery against the light, and Jake remarked: "That's a noble
gate."

"Hand-forged in Belgium, I believe," Jim replied, and they rolled on
down an avenue where sunshine and shadow checkered the smooth grass.

The avenue had been planted before the new house at Dryholm was built.
The spreading oaks were darkly green, but the beeches had begun to turn
and their pale trunks glimmered among splashes of orange and red. On
the hillside above the hollow, the birches hung sprays of shining
yellow against a background of somber firs. All was very quiet and
Carrie sensed a calm she had not remarked in the forests of Canada.
There one heard the Chinook in the pine-tops and the rapids brawl.

They sped past a tarn where swans floated among the colored reflections
of ancient trees, and then Dryholm broke upon their view across its
wide lawn. For a