"That's flattering to a woman, certainly," Marcel sighed. Then: "Father Mantelle says your boarder is handsome, Mam'selle, and young."
"Tastes differ," Jo basted her chicken with steady hand; "he's terrible brown and lean. As to age, he wasn't born yesterday."
"What's he doing here, Jo?"
"Eating and sleeping, mostly eating. He wanders some, too. He's partial to woods."
"Hasn't he any excuse for being here?"
"Marcel, does any one have to have an excuse for being in Point of Pines? What's the matter with the place?"
"The Captain argues that he is a prospector." Marcel brought the word out carefully.
"What's that?" Mam'selle dipped out her crullers from the deep fat.
"Sensing about timber or land, or something that someone secret wants to buy, and has sent him to spy on."
"Well, I don't believe the Captain has shot the right bird," Jo laughed significantly, "the Captain isn't always a good shot. My boarder is a painter."