Susan Hornby heard it too and caught the sick look on her face, but though she wondered about it she asked no questions, for Elizabeth Hunter was a woman of reserve. Elizabeth Hunter had developed a power unknown to Elizabeth Farnshaw.

"Got a good many sheds built a'ready, I see," was the next remark the girl heard.

"Yes," John replied, still devoting himself to the fire. "I expected to get the stock sooner--haven't used it all this year--but it's there for next season. I've got about all the cattle I'll get now. I told Carter I'd take seventeen head of his. He was going to put them up at his sale next week, but I persuaded him to let me have them in a bunch. I'll get them home to-morrow. Got 'em on 6 per cent. They'll grow into money every day this summer--mostly two-year-olds. Don't you think so?"

"That's all owin'," Nathan replied slowly. "Cattle take a lot of cover, an' you ain't usin' straw sheds."

"Oh, my sheds ain't cost so very much," John replied easily. "They're substantial too. I don't think much of the straw-shed business. It'll do for Hansen, now, that ain't got anything to put under cover, but when a man's got anything----" John filled out the sentence with an expressive gesture, and then before any one could speak said casually: "By the way, I hear the Swede's going to be married to-morrow."

"Married?" Elizabeth Hunter exclaimed. Every word of the conversation had been a stab, but to have Luther called a Swede was too much.

"Yes, dear," Aunt Susan said, laying a hand on her arm. "I meant to have told you and I hadn't got to it yet. Nate and I are invited to the wedding. It's Sadie Crane, you know."

Elizabeth fell into the nearest chair utterly limp. "Sadie Crane?" she said over and over.

"I knew you'd hate to have it Sadie, but any woman could be glad to get a man as good as Luther, and she's crazy over him. He'll make her a good husband whether she makes a good wife or not. She'll have her own way a good deal further than most wives."

John Hunter suspected that the latter was said for his benefit.

Nathan and Susan Hornby disagreed, as much as it was possible for them to do, on the way home.

"You may say what you please, if she don't come it's because she don't want to. You couldn't ask for a more rousin' welcome 'n _he_ give us,"

Nathan said as he watched the forefoot on the off horse to see whether it was a cake of snow that made it limp or a more serious trouble.

"It wasn't any more rousing than hers was when I went in and--and look how he spoke of Luther," Susan replied hesitatingly. She hardly dare point out the weakness of John, however angry she was at him, for she had had trouble enough to get Nathan to bring her at all.

"That's so," Nathan admitted. "They're a pair of sn.o.bs, anyhow. You think she treats you all right, but you saw how she shied round th' subject when I put it straight to 'er. I went because you wanted me to--but I ain't sure----" Nathan Hornby ceased to speak before his sentence was finished.

Elizabeth's neglect had been another nail in the coffin of his friendly trust. Susan had had hard work to persuade him to bring her to-day and had hoped that some lucky circ.u.mstance would help to dispel his suspicions.

This had looked possible at first, but she saw that he still nursed his grievances.

Susan had her suspicions also, but they were of John, not of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had been as glad to see her as she had always been, whatever there might have been that was unexplainable on the surface. Susan Hornby knew with a knowledge that was una.s.sailable that Elizabeth Hunter loved her as much as Elizabeth Farnshaw had done.

"I don't care, I'm going again some day before long," she said; "she won't be going out much now for a while."

"Well, now, look here," Nathan said, stubbornly sticking to a conviction from which he was unable to get away. "You think Hunter keeps her from coming. He give us more of a welcome 'n she did, a good sight."

Susan Hornby glanced around at her husband in astonishment. She had never said that she thought Elizabeth was prevented by John from coming to see them. Nathan had measured her better than she had realized.

"No-o, he didn't," she replied slowly. She resolved to speak frankly. "You didn't see her when she took me into the house. Honestly, Nate, it was better than a whole revival service to have that girl tell me of--of----"

"I didn't see that," Nathan interrupted, "I only know he _was_ glad t' see us; you saw that for yourself."

"I was just going to say----" Susan considered a moment and then said firmly: "He was glad to see us because there was something about those cattle he hadn't told her. Didn't you see the look on her face?"

"That wouldn't make no difference with th' way he'd do by us. 'E was as glad as could be, an' asked you t' come back 's if you'd been 'is mother.

It's some stuck-up notion of hers--this thing of them not visitin' their neighbours."

Susan looked up at him indulgently.

"You won't refuse to be good friends with her--for my sake, Nate. She was as glad to see me as a little child."

"Why don't she come t' see you then?" Nathan asked sternly, able only to see the one point.

"I don't exactly know, Nate. I couldn't crowd her on that matter--she looked so worried when I brought it up that I just let it go. I only _know_ she wants to come."

They dropped the subject and rode along over the smooth road, too absorbed in their own thoughts to get pleasure out of this last sleighride of the season, both endeavoring to solve the problem from their own viewpoint, Nathan full of distrust and suspicion, his wife too well versed in human nature to doubt Elizabeth's honesty or believe that she was spoiled by a fine home or an advanced social position. At last she spoke her conclusions:

"There's something in her face I like better'n ever, but there's a worried something there I don't like to see."

Nathan was sorry he had criticised Elizabeth. Sue loved the girl. Nathan and Susan discussed, but never argued. If Susan remained of her first opinion after talking a thing over, Nathan conceded within himself that she had some good reason for her convictions even where he could not agree.

"Sue 'll have t' see it for herself," he meditated. "I'd be glad t' see 'er right. We'll see how it turns out." But as he tried to get himself into that frame of mind he remembered how many days had been spoiled for his wife that winter because she longed for Elizabeth, and he involuntarily muttered:

"Dirty little huzzy!" and ground his straggling teeth as he thought of it.

After Nathan and Susan Hornby had turned into the main road, John walked slowly back to the house.

"What'd I say that Mrs. Hornby didn't like?" he asked, as he entered the kitchen where Elizabeth was preparing the supper which Nathan had declined to stay and eat.

Elizabeth's brow was drawn into a puckered wrinkle. She followed her own laborious thinking, unaware that her husband had spoken.

"What'd I say that riled Mrs. Hornby?" he repeated.

Elizabeth heard the question now and looked up. It was hard to answer. To mention the tone in which he had spoken of Luther was useless she knew.

Her hesitancy annoyed her husband.

"Well, what's wrong?"

"Nothing--that is----" Elizabeth could not discuss it.

John Hunter resented her silence. He turned without speaking and picked up the water pail quickly. John heaped coals of fire by performing household duties.

Reflecting that he was going to be angry whether she talked out or not, Elizabeth laid a detaining hand on his arm and spoke of what she felt she could get his attention fixed upon.

"I was thinking of all that money we're going to have to pay some day, John. I--I've tried before to make you understand me. Oh, John, dear, don't you see--but then, no, of course you don't, you've never had the experience of it. You see, dear, I've had it. It takes the heart out of people. You never get rid of it after you get into it once. You just go on, you get old and quarrelsome--and--and you never have any good times because you're afraid of something--of the interest that's got to be met, and things. Why won't you let me help you? You didn't tell me about these last cattle, nor the Carter lot. Why----"

"Now look here, Elizabeth, a man can't run to the house and consult a woman about every little thing he does, before he does it. I always tell you when I can. I told you about this."

Irritability was John Hunter's strongest weapon.

"I don't want you to run to the house to tell me about every little thing you do," the young wife explained patiently, "but these debts will not be little things when they come to be paid off, dear. Really, you don't know how they will sap you and me later on; they may even take the farm right out from under our feet. There are so many things that can happen to cattle--and interest _has_ to be paid. That's the awful part of it, and----"

John fidgeted uneasily and did not look at her. He wanted to get away. He had not come in to talk of this. Elizabeth held his sleeve and he had to say something.

"I haven't failed to get what you need out of this money," he said at last. "I can't have you shutting out opportunities for business. I'll raise the interest. If I furnish the money I ought to be free to make a living the best way I see how. What do you know about a man's business?"