"Yes," Sarah admitted slowly, "she seemed to like you. But did you see how she treated the Carmichaels? Just civil, and hardly that. Nobody can understand Jane. She just does as she wants always." "I believe she must have a great head for business. If she were in Henry I.'s shoes--" "I don't see why you say that! I am sure you never hear the least word about business in their house." I smiled at Sarah's little show of temper, as she continued:-- "Anyway, it would be strange if she didn't know something about money-making. Her father was old Joe Sanson--they say he was a half-breed and made his money trading with the Indians and getting Government lands. Father used to tell stories about him. We heard that he left her a great deal of money, but nobody knows much about her or her affairs. She's so silent." "I didn't find her so." Sarah apparently did not altogether share my enthusiasm for Mrs. Dround. "Tell me," she demanded, "just what she said to you, every word." "I can't. She talks with her eyes, most." "Oh, I hate to have men discuss business with women. It is such bad taste!" "Why, Sarah, business is the whole thing for me. There isn't anything else I can talk about except you." "Talk about me, then. I shall have to keep you out of Jane's way. I don't want you to talk to her about things I don't understand." "Why not?" She shivered and drew me closer to her. "Because, Jane--I am afraid of Jane. She is so strong, and I am so weak. If she wanted you, or anybody, she would take you." For all reply to this nonsense I kissed her good night. CHAPTER XI MARRIAGE _Old scenes--How home looks after the city--My sister-in-law--In the country a man grows old--The judge once more--I make Will a suggestion--The joy of success--My wedding breakfast--Unexpected talk--The hand of Jane_ Just before we were married, Sarah and I went down to my old home in Jasonville. She was determined that I should make it up with my folks; it hurt her gentle heart to think that I had lived all these years without any news of my kin. It was a freezing January day when we drove up to the red brick house next the store. As we rattled over the rutty streets in the depot carriage, and passed the small frame houses all closed in for the winter, I couldn't help feeling a most pharisaical pleasure in knowing that I wasn't condemned to live in this bleak little town. When I knocked at the door, mother came to see who was there. She knew me at once, but she looked at me slowly, in the questioning way I remembered so well, before she said:-- "Well, Van! You've come back?" "Yes, mother, and brought with me the best girl in the world." "I am glad to see you both," she said quietly. "And how's father?" I asked nervously. "Your father died nearly three years ago. We didn't know where to send word to you."