“The farmer dug a well in that meadow, and I believe he uses it still. He held a lease, and Weston couldn’t get rid of him.”
He looked rather hard at Ida, and was slightly astonished at the sparkle in her eyes.
“I’m afraid I’ve been somewhat talkative,” he said.
“No,” Ida assured him, and he saw that she was stirred. “Thank you for telling me.”
He moved away; and by and by Arabella Kinnaird and one of the other women approached the seat. Arabella left her companion a moment, and made a little whimsical gesture as she met Ida’s gaze.
“I’ve been throwing away a good many blandishments on Weston,” she observed. “He appears prudently reticent on the subject of his relations, and if he has any in Canada, it’s evident that he isn’t proud of them. Still, I haven’t abandoned the amiable intention of extorting a little more information from him.”
WESTON’S ADVOCATE
A week had passed when Weston, who apparently had some business with Kinnaird, drove over to Scarthwaite again. This time he brought a daughter, who, it appeared, lived for the most part with some more prosperous members of the family. Arriving a little before lunch, they remained until the evening. As it happened, Miss Weston displayed what she evidently considered a kindly interest in Ida, and graciously patronized her as a stranger and a Colonial, who was necessarily ignorant of a good many of the little amenities of life in the old country.
Her intentions were no doubt laudable, but the methods she adopted to set the stranger at her ease were not those most likely to endear the insular English to their cousins across the Atlantic. Ida, to begin with, had not only a spice of temper but also no great reverence for forms and formulas, and the people that she was accustomed to meeting were those who had set their mark upon wide belts of forest and long leagues of prairie. At first she was quietly amused by the patronage of a woman whose right to bestow it consisted apparently in an acquaintance with English people of station, and some proficiency at bridge; but by and by her condescension grew wearisome, and finally exasperating. Miss Weston, however, could not have been expected to recognize this. She was a tall, pale woman, with a coldly formal manner and some taste in dress.