Miss Barrington was won, and, making no further protest, signed to Dane. “You will take Mr. Courthorne home with you,” she said. “I would have kept him here, but he is evidently anxious to talk over affairs with some one more of his age than my brother is.”
Dane appeared quite willing, and an hour later, Witham sat, cigar in hand, in a room of his outlying farm. It was furnished simply, but there were signs of taste, and the farmer who occupied it had already formed a good opinion of the man whose knowledge of his own profession astonished him.
“So you are actually going to sell wheat in face of the Colonel’s views?” he said.
“Of course,” said Witham simply. “I don’t like unpleasantness, but I can allow no man to dictate my affairs to me.”
Dane grinned. “Well,” he said, “the Colonel can be nasty, and he has no great reason for being fond of you already.”
“No?” said Witham. “Now, of course, my accession will make a difference at Silverdale, but I would consider it a friendly act if you will let me know the views of the colony.”
Dane looked thoughtful. “The trouble is that your taking up the land leaves less for Maud Barrington than there would have been. Barrington, who is fond of the girl, was trustee for the property, and after your—estrangement—from your father everybody expected she would get it all.”
“So I have deprived Miss Barrington of part of her income?”
“Of course,” said Dane. “Didn’t you know?”
Witham found it difficult to answer. “I never quite realized it before. Are there more accounts against me?”