Towards the close of dinner, his hostess leaned towards him.
“Have you seen or heard anything of a young man named Macheson in the village?” she asked.
“I have seen him once or twice,” he answered. “Here on a missionary expedition or something of the sort, I believe.”
“Has he made any attempt to hold a meeting?” she asked.
“Not that I have heard of,” he replied. “He has been talking to some of the people, though. I saw him with old Gullimore yesterday.”
“That reminds me,” she remarked, “is it true that Gullimore has had trouble with his daughter?”
“I believe so,” young Hurd admitted, looking downwards at his plate.
“The man was to blame for letting her leave the place,” Wilhelmina declared, in cold, measured tones. “A pretty girl, I remember, but very vain, and a fool, of course. But about this young fellow Macheson. Do you know who he is, and where he came from?”
Stephen Hurd shook his head.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said doubtfully. “He belongs to some sort of brotherhood, I believe. I can’t exactly make out what he’s at. Seems a queer sort of place for him to come missioning, this!”