patients so. Sink or swim, but you've got clear water to do it
in. I'll hang around--make my city headquarters with you; lend myself to
you; but for the rest I'm going to do exactly what I want to do--for a
time."

Cameron regarded his uncle as the young often do the older--yearningly,
covetously, tenderly.

"I--I think I understand about Miss Fletcher, Uncle Dave," he said.

"I had hoped you did, boy. And remember this--it's only when a woman
gets so into your system that she cannot be purged out, that you dare to
be sure."

"But, Uncle Dave, the knowledge--what has it done for you?"

"You'll never be able to understand that, Bud, until you're past the age
of asking the question."

And having settled that to his satisfaction, Martin turned resolutely to
what threatened Doris and Nancy.

He meant to see fair play. Doris could be depended upon for a few
strenuous months if her friends turned to and helped her as they should.

Nancy must no longer be sacrificed!

"If there is any sense in this tomfoolery about Joan," Martin mused, "it
must apply to Nancy also."

Martin was extremely fond of Nancy. He often wished she would not lean
so heavily, but then his spiritual ideal of a woman was after Nancy's
design. Of Joan he disapproved, and Doris was a type apart.

"If we can marry Nancy off," plotted Martin--and he had his mind's eye
on his nephew--"I'll bring Sister on from the West and get Doris to
share Ridge House with us. Queer combination, but safe!"

And then he saw, as in a vision, the peaceful years on ahead. He would
hold Doris's hand down the westering way. Hold it close and warm; never
looking for more than the blessed companionship. And his sister, happy
and content, would share the way with them and Nancy's children--would
they be Clive's also?--would gladden all their hearts. And Joan?--well,
Martin did not feel that Joan needed his architectural aid--she was
chopping and hacking her own design.

At this point Martin sought Emily Tweksbury and bullied her into action.

Mrs. Tweksbury had not unpacked her trunks yet and was sorely depressed
about Raymond.

"I wish I had stuck to Maine," she deplored, "and devoted myself to the
boy. He looks like a fallen angel.

"Ken, what have you been doing to yourself?" she had asked.

"Just pegging away, Aunt Emily."

"Ken," Mrs. Tweksbury had an awful habit of felling the obvious by a
blow of her common-sense hatchet; "Ken, you've got to be married. Y