d yet the next morning at table he
attempted, covertly, to sound Sarah for an opinion, too. She
invariably solved his perplexities or relegated them to the limbo of
gentle ridicule.

"Just why should he want this East Coast job to fail?" he puzzled
aloud. "He's in it, along with Elliott and Ainnesley, even if he isn't
in so deep. That is, of course, assuming that he does want it to fail."

The preoccupied gleam in Miss Sarah's eyes promised a reply that might
be worth considering, but when it came Caleb found trouble in
assimilating it.

"They did look so well together," she murmured absently. "He's so much
broader--and a whole head taller, too!"

It didn't seem to be exactly a relevant answer, but Caleb nodded
patiently.

"Taller, yes," he admitted judiciously. "But he isn't half so big
around."

Sarah sat, fork poised, and gazed at him.

"Not half so big as who?" she neglected her sentence structure.

"Why--Dexter!" said Caleb. "Isn't that what we were talking about?"

"Maybe you were," Miss Sarah sniffed. "But I was not discussing
Dexter's height or girth either. I was referring to his daughter
and--and our boy, Stephen. I was going to ask you if you thought she
could be entirely disinterested in him. I don't believe any woman
forgets a man who has ever thought enough of her to fight for her."

"I suppose not," agreed Caleb humbly.

"And I was wondering, if that argument ever came up again--I'm
wondering if Archibald Wickersham wouldn't come out second best, just
as he did before?"

Then her brother understood. He threw back his head and laughed until
Sarah's face registered a trace of vexation.

"Sarah," he saluted her, "I'm a mere babe in arms when it comes to
finesse, in comparison with you. But since you have introduced the
subject I might remark that there are two individuals to be considered.
Maybe she might be--interested--as you so delicately phrase it. But
the boy--well, he's had one mighty pointed lesson, you know."

But there was no mirth in Sarah's eyes. She was most serious.

"That's the very thing which perplexes me," she confessed. "I was
going to ask you about that. For it was hurt pride that sent him away
and he hasn't forgotten the hurt, even yet. He was going to tell us,
last night when I stopped him, that he hadn't written again because he
wasn't certain that we wanted to hear; and he was painfully conscious
of how childish it would sound in words, too. Some me