"Then I gather that he built up this great farm?"

"Yes; from a free quarter-section. He and my mother started in a
two-roomed shack. They were both from Ontario, but she died several
years ago." The girl paused. "Sometimes I think she must have had
remarkable courage, I can remember her as always ready in an emergency,
always tranquil."

George glanced at her as she stood, finely posed, looking out across
the waste of grass with gravely steady eyes, and it occurred to him
that she resembled her mother in the respects she had mentioned.
Nevertheless, he felt inclined to wonder how she had got her grace and
refinement. Alan Grant was forceful and rather primitive.

"Have you spent much of your time here?" he asked.

"No," she answered. "My mother was once a school-teacher, and she must
have had ambitious views for me. When the farm began to prosper, I was
sent to Toronto. After that I went to Montreal, and finally to
England."

"You must be fond of traveling."

"Oh," she said, with some reserve, "I had thought of taking up a
profession."

"And you have abandoned the idea?"

She looked at him quietly, wondering whether she should answer.