n which I have not found on him, though I have
looked for it."

The eyes of the two women met, and, though nothing more was said, each
realized that the other was perplexed by the same question, while the
girl was astonished to find her vague suspicions shared. While they
sat silent, Colonel Barrington came in.

"I am glad to see you looking so much better, Maud," he said, with a
trace of embarrassment. "Courthorne is still resting. Now, I can't
help feeling that we have been a trifle more distant than was needful
with him. The man has really behaved very discreetly. I mean in
everything."

This was a great admission, and Miss Barrington smiled. "Did it hurt
you very much to tell us that?" she asked.

The Colonel laughed. "I know what you mean, and if you put me on my
mettle, I'll retract. After all, it was no great credit to him,
because blood will tell, and he is, of course, a Courthorne."

Almost without her intention, Maud Barrington's eyes wandered towards
the photograph, and then looking up she met those of her aunt, and once
more saw the thought that troubled her in them.

"The Courthorne blood is responsible for a good deal more than
discretion," said Miss Barrington, who went out quietly.

Her brother appeared a trifle perplexed. "Now, I fancied your aunt had
taken him under her wing, and when I was about to suggest that,
considering the connection between the families, we might ask him over
to dinner occasionally, she goes away," he said.

The girl looked down a moment, for realizing that her uncle recognized
the obligation he was under to the man he did not like, she remembered
that she herself owed him considerably more, and he had asked for
something in return. It was not altogether easy to grant, but she had
tacitly pledged herself, and turning suddenly she laid a hand on
Barrington's arm.

"Of course, but I want to talk of something else just now," she said.
"You know I have very seldom asked you questions about my affairs, but
I wish to take a little practical interest in them this year."

"Yes?" said Barrington, with a smile. "Well, I am at your service, my
dear, and quite ready to account for my stewardship. You are no longer
my ward, except by your own wishes."

"I am still your niece," said the girl, patting his arm. "Now, there
is, of course, nobody who could manage the farming better than you do,
but I would like to raise a large crop of wheat this season."

"It wouldn't