VING A HOUSE

The surge of disgust with which Sheba had broken her engagement to marry
Macdonald ebbed away as the weeks passed. It was impossible for her to
wait upon him in his illness and hold any repugnance toward this big,
elemental man. The thing he had done might be wrong, but the very
openness and frankness of his relation to Meteetse redeemed it from
shame. He was neither a profligate nor a squawman.

This was Diane's point of view, and in time it became to a certain
extent that of Sheba. One takes on the color of one's environment, and
the girl from Drogheda knew in her heart that Meteetse and Colmac were
no longer the real barriers that stood between her and the Alaskan.
She had been disillusioned, saw him more clearly; and though she still
recognized the quality of bigness that set him apart, her spirit did not
now do such complete homage to it. More and more her thoughts contrasted
him with another man.

Macdonald did not need to be told that he had lost ground, but with
the dogged determination that had carried him to success he refused to
accept the verdict. She was a woman, therefore to be won. The habit of
victory was so strong in him that he could see no alternative.

He embarrassed her with his downright attentions, hemmed her in with
courtesies she could not evade. If she appealed to her cousin, Diane
only laughed.

"My dear, you might as well make up your mind to him. He is going to
marry you, willy-nilly."

Sheba herself began to be afraid he would. There was something dominant
and masterful about the man that swept opposition aside. He had a way of
getting what he wanted.

The motor-car picnic to the Willow Creek Camp was a case in point. Sheba
did not want to go, but she went. She would much rather have sat in the
rear seat with Diane,--at least, she persuaded herself that she
would,--yet she occupied the place beside Macdonald in front. The girl
was a rebel. Still, in her heart, she was not wholly reluctant. He made
a strong appeal to her imagination. She felt that it would have been
impossible for any girl to be indifferent to the wooing of such a man.

The picnic was a success. Macdonald was an outdoor man rather than a
parlor one. He took charge of the luncheon, lit the fire, and cooked the
coffee without the least waste of effort. In his shirt-sleeves, the neck
open at the throat, he looked the embodiment of masculine vigor. Diane
could not help mentioning it to her cousin.

"Is