“Well,” said Witham, “while I am prepared to act upon it, I would recommend it to others with some diffidence. No money can be made at present by farming, but I see no reason why we should not endeavour to cut our losses by selling forward down. If caught by a sudden rally, we could fall back on the grain we hold.”
There was a sudden silence, until Dane said softly, “That is exactly what one of the cleverest brokers in Winnipeg recommended.”
“I think,” said Colonel Barrington, “you heard my answer. I am inclined to fancy that such a measure would not be advisable or fitting, Mr. Courthorne. You, however, presumably know very little about the practical aspect of the wheat question?”
Witham smiled. “On the contrary, I know a great deal.”
“You do?” said Barrington sharply, and while a blunderer would have endeavoured to qualify his statement, Witham stood by it.
“You are evidently not aware, sir, that I have tried my hand at farming, though not very successfully.”
“That, at least,” said Barrington dryly, as he rose, “is quite credible.”
When they went into the smaller room, Witham crossed over to where Maud Barrington sat alone, and looked down upon her gravely. “One discovers that frankness is usually best,” he said. “Now, I would not like to feel that you had determined to be unfriendly with me.”
Maud Barrington fixed a pair of clear brown eyes upon his face, and the faintest trace of astonishment crept into them. She was a woman with high principles, but neither a fool nor a prude, and she saw no sign of dissolute living there. The man’s gaze was curiously steady, his skin clear and brown, and his sinewy form suggested a capacity for, and she almost fancied an acquaintance with, physical toil. Yet he had already denied the truth to her. Witham, on his part, saw a very fair face with wholesome pride in it, and felt that the eyes which were coldly contemptuous now could, if there was a warrant for it, grow very gentle.
“Would it be of any moment if I were?” she said.