experiences began for Bancroft. He was still determined not to be
seduced into making Loo his wife. But now the jealousy that is born of
desire and vanity tormented him, and the mere thought that Barkman might
marry and live with her irritated him intensely. She was worthy of
better things than marriage with such a man. She was vain, no doubt, and
lacking in the finer sensibilities, the tremulous moral instincts which
are the crown and glory of womanhood; but it was not her fault that her
education had been faulty, her associates coarse--and after all she was
very beautiful.
On returning home one afternoon he saw Barkman walking with her in the
peach orchard. As they turned round the girl called to him, and came at
once to meet him; but his jealousy would not be appeased. Her flower-
like face, framed, so to speak, by the autumn foliage, only increased
his anger. He could not bear to _see_ her flirting. Were she out of
his sight, he felt for the first time, he would not care what she did.
"You were goin' in without speakin'," she said reproachfully.
"You have a man with you whose trade is talk. I'm not needed," was his
curt reply.
Half-incensed, half-gratified by his passionate exclamation, she drew
back, while Barkman, advancing, said:
"Good day, Mr. Bancroft, good day. I was just tryin' to persuade Miss
Conklin to come for another drive this evenin' in order to get this
business of ours settled as soon as possible."
"Another drive." Bancroft repeated the words to himself, and then
steadying his voice answered coolly: "You'll have no difficulty, lawyer.
I was just telling Miss Conklin that you talked splendidly--the result
of constant practice, I presume."
"That's it, sir," replied the lawyer seriously; "it's chiefly a matter
of practice added to gift--natural gift," but here Barkman's conceit
died out as he caught an uneasy, impatient movement of Miss Conklin, and
he went on quietly with the knowledge of life and the adaptability
gained by long experience: "But anyway, I'm glad you agree with me, for
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