a casual idler like the people at
Etterick. You and I are working man and woman."

It was her turn to flush in downright earnest. The man's hot face
sickened her. What were these wild words he was speaking? She dimly
caught their purport, heard the mention of Etterick, saw once again
Lewis with his quick, kindly eyes, and turned coldly to the lover.

"It is quite out of the question, Mr. Stocks," she said calmly. "Of
course I am obliged to you for the honour you have done me, but the
thing is impossible."

"Who is it?" he cried, with angry eyes. "Is it Lewis Haystoun?"

The girl looked quickly at him, and he was silent, abashed. Strangely
enough, at that moment she liked him better than ever before. She
forgave him his rudeness and folly, his tactless speech and his comical
face. He was in love with her, he offered her what he most valued, his
political chances and his code of fine sentiments; it was not his blame
if she found both little better than husks.

Her attention flew for a moment to the place she had left, only to
return to a dismal reflection. Was she not, after all, in the same
galley as her rejected suitor? What place had she in the frank
good-fellowship of Etterick, or what part had they in the inheritance of
herself and her kind? Had not Mr. Stocks--now sitting glumly by her
side--spoken the truth? We are only what we are made, and generations
of thrift and seriousness had given her a love for the strenuous and the
unadorned which could never be cast out. Here was a quandary--for at
the same instant there came the voice of the heart defiantly calling her
to the breaking of idols.

CHAPTER X

HOME TRUTHS

I

It is told by a great writer in his generous English that when the
followers of Diabolus were arraigned before the Recorder and Mayor of
regenerate Mansoul, a certain Mr. Haughty carried himself well to the
last. "He declared," says Bunyan, "that he had carried himself bravely,
not considering who was his foe or what was the cause in which he was
engaged. It was enough for him if he fought like a man and came off
victorious." Nevertheless, we are told, he suffered the common doom,
being crucified next day at the place of execution. It is the old fate
of the freelance, the Hal o' the Wynd who fights for his own hand; for
in life's contest the taking of sides is assumed to be a necessity.

Such was Lewis's reflections when he found Wratislaw waiting for him in
the Etterick dogcart when