the blind stare
with which empty houses respond to interrogation. He continued his way
to the gate and into the yard. All was neglected and fantastically
overgrown. Vetch, burdock, and yarrow were in luxuriant riot with the
planting and seeding of the spring. No living creature was in sight but
a dappled mare, whose round body and heavy fetlocks spoke of a Canuck
strain, hitched in the shade of the magnolia-tree.

The mare wore a straw hat to which was attached a bunch of artificial
roses, and switched her tail to drive away the flies. Harnessed to a
light form of dray, the animal suggested business, so that Claude put on
a business air, going forward with the assurance of one who has a right
to be on the spot. He had not advanced twenty paces before the hothouse
door opened to allow the passage of a fern-tree in a giant wooden pot,
behind which came the pleasant countenance of Jim Breen, red and
perspiring from so much exertion under a July sun. Claude paused till
the fern-tree was deposited in the dray, when the two men stared at each
other across the intervening space.

For the first time Lois's mention of the young Irishman's name returned
to Claude as significant. What the young Irishman thought of him he had
no means of knowing, for a sudden eclipse across the cheery face was
followed by an equally sudden clearing.

"Hello, Claude!"

Jim threw off the greeting guardedly, and yet with a certain challenge.
His very use of the Christian name was meant to be a token of man-to-man
equality. Having attended the public school with Claude, and taken part
with him in ball-games at an age too early for class distinctions, he
was plainly disposed to use that fact as a basis of privilege. He
attempted, however, no other advance, remaining sturdily at the tail of
his dray, hatless and in his shirt-sleeves, but with head erect and gray
eyes set fixedly. The only conciliating feature was his smile, which had
come back, not with its native spontaneity, but daringly and
aggressively, as a brave man smiles at a foe.

Claude resented the attitude; he resented the smile; he resented the use
of his Christian name; but he was resolved to be diplomatic. He went
forward a few steps farther still, but in spite of himself his voice
trembled when he spoke. "Mr. Fay 'round?"

Jim answered nonchalantly. "No; gone to town. Want a good fern-tree,
Claude? Two or three corkers here. Look at that one, now. Get it cheap,
too. Dandy in the co