for an American paint factory, and had to begin work at
an age when your nephew was at Eton; but I think him a very fine type.
He's serious, courteous, and sanguine, and seems to have a strong
confidence in his partner."

"Ah! That is not so strange. The Blakes have a way of inspiring trust
and liking. It's a gift of theirs."

"Your nephew undoubtedly has it. He uses it unconsciously, but I think
that those who trust him are not deceived."

Challoner regarded her with a curious expression. "After all," he
said, "that may be true."

Mrs. Foster joined them, and when, soon afterward, she and her friends
left, Challoner sat alone for a long time, while the pictures faded as
dusk crept into the gallery. A man of practical abilities, with a
stern perception of his duty, he was inclined to distrust all that made
its strongest appeal to the senses. Art and music he thought were
vocations for women; in his opinion it was hardly fitting that a man
should exploit his emotions by expressing them for public exhibition.
Indeed, he regarded sentimentality of any kind as a failing; and it had
been suggested that his son possessed the dangerous gift. One of his
friends had even gone farther and hinted that Bertram should never have
been a soldier; but Challoner could not agree with that conclusion.
His lips set sternly as he went out in search of Greythorpe.

CHAPTER XIV

DEFEAT

A good fire burned on the hearth in the library at Sandymere, although
the mild air of an early spring morning floated in through the open
window. Challoner sat in a big leather chair, watching the flames and
thinking of his nephew, when a servant entered and handed him a card.

Challoner glanced at it.

"Clarke? I don't know any one of that name--"

He stopped abruptly as he saw the word _Sweetwater_ in small type at
the bottom of the card. He knew that that was the name of the prairie
town from which Blake had started on his quest into the wilderness.

"All right, Perkins," he said, rather eagerly; and a few minutes
afterward Clarke entered the room, with an irritating air of assurance.

"Colonel Challoner, I presume?"

Challoner bowed.

"You have brought me some news of my nephew, Richard Blake?"

This disconcerted Clarke. He had not imagined that his object would be
known, and he had counted upon Challoner's being surprised and thrown
off his guard. It looked as if the Colonel had been making inquiries
about Blake. Cl