My father was right in holding to the woman who loved him, and I think Tristan Alton knew it when he left Carnaby to me." Miss Deringham seemed thoughtful.

The man's grim code of honour, inflexible as it was primitive, caused her, for no apparent reason, indefinite misgivings, and she made a little gesture of weariness.

"I think," she said, "it would be better if we did not talk of Carnaby, and I was wondering if it would be possible to catch a trout if there is a little more wind presently." This was scarcely a correct rendering of her thoughts, for she was in reality desirous of ascertaining whether the man would, to afford her pleasure, thrust his work aside.
"Well," he said eagerly, "I shouldn't wonder if it would.

Now, there's the planer to fix up, but that could wait a little, and--but here's someone coming!" Miss Deringham was conscious of a trace of annoyance when a girl rode out of the orchard on a wiry little pony.

She was dressed neatly and rode well, though the somewhat scanty skirt was evidently not the work of a habitmaker and had seen lengthy service, while the plain straw hat could not at the limit have cost more than a dollar; nor did she wear any gloves, and her hands were brown, while her face betokened exposure to frost and wind and sun.