"I am her mother and she will not indulge me," Mrs. Cartwright remarked
with languid grievance, and Barbara gave Harry a quick, searching
glance. His face was inscrutable, but she wondered how much he knew. She
felt shabby and ashamed.

When Mrs. Vernon went off with the elixir, Harry sat down.

"If you could bring Mr. Cartwright out, I might persuade my father to
come along," he said. "The old man likes Cartwright; declares he's a
sport."

"He is a ship-owner." Grace remarked. "I think he used to shoot, but
it's some time since."

Harry looked at Barbara and his eyes twinkled. "American English isn't
Oxford English, but your people are beginning to use it and Miss Barbara
learns fast. All the same, running the Independent Freighters is quite a
sporting proposition, and I imagine Mr. Cartwright generally makes good.
The old man and I would back him to put over an awkward deal every
time."

"My husband is a good business man," Mrs. Cartwright agreed. "But you
belong to Winnipeg and I understand his business is at Montreal."

"The steamship _Conference_ understood something like that, until
Cartwright put them wise. You see, we Western people grow the wheat that
goes down the lakes, and when the _Conference_ got to know an
Independent boat was coming out they went round and offered Montreal
shippers and brokers a drawback on the rates. That is, if the shippers