"Well, I don't need to yet. Perhaps I will some day."
His face darkened, and he absently toyed with his glasses.
"You are a very proper man," said his wife, teasingly. "I believe you would want to shake me if I told a story. I'll have to, you know. Good gracious, everybody tells stories."
"Please don't jest on such a subject."
"On such a subject,—I will if I choose, sir. Oh, what a fright you are with that ugly frown on your brow! but I am not afraid of you. I think I will go to bed, you are getting tiresome. Miss Gastonguay is so amusing," and, with a regretful sigh, she rose to leave him.
"You like Miss Gastonguay," he said, with quiet eagerness.
"Yes, immensely. At first I could not make her out. Now I like her a thousand times better than that niece of hers. Miss Chelda is queer,—just like a deep, dark river. I detest people who look at me so coolly that I can't tell what they are thinking about. You are like that sometimes."
Unmindful of this thrust, Justin asked, "Did she tell you anything about her family history?"
"Oh, yes, she said her house was called French Cross on account of the cross her Catholic ancestor put up there, and she showed me the picture of the old chief Kanawita, and some day she is going to let me see the Indian relics she has stored in her attic."
"She has indeed taken you into favour," said her husband, in a tone of gratification.