"No," Brand said with a direct glance. "I'm old and sober; but you don't know what I'm capable of when I'm stirred."
"I'm not sure that I'm curious. To tell the truth, it costs me rather an effort to be gay to-night. Somehow, there's a feeling of trouble in the air."
Brand thought she had no knowledge of her father's misfortune—it was unlikely that Mowbray would tell her; but she was clever enough to see the other troubles that threatened the Grange in common with most of the homesteads at Allenwood.
"So you face it with a laugh!" he said. "It's a gallant spirit; but I dare say the boys make it easier for you. Trouble doesn't seem to touch them."
He looked about the hall, noting the careless bearing of the handsome, light-hearted young men and the three or four attractive girls. Their laughter was gay, their voices had a spirited ring, and the room was filled with warmth and brightness; yet he felt the presence of an ominous shadow. This afforded him a certain gloomy satisfaction, the meanness of which he recognized. He knew that he could not win the girl he desired by his personal merits, but the troubles he thought were coming might give him his opportunity.
Beatrice was presently glad of an excuse for dismissing him, and when the others had gone she went to her father, who was standing moodily by the hearth.
"You don't look well to-night," she said.
"I'm not ill."
"Then you're anxious."
"I must confess that I have something to think about."