in his tone and in the hard blue eyes.

"For several reasons," said Brice, coolly. "In the
first place, I had brought home your dog. In the second, I
had taken a fancy to him, as he had to me, and it would be
pleasant working at a place where I could be with such a chum.
In the third place, Miss Standish was kind enough to say
pretty much the same things about me that you've just said.
She knew I wasn't a tramp, who might be expected to decamp
with the lawn-mower or the spoons. Another landowner might
not have been so complimentary, when I applied for work and
had no references. In the fourth, you seem to have a larger
and more pretentious place here than most of your near
neighbors. I--I can't think of any better reasons, just now."

"H'm!" mused Standish, frowning down on the recumbent man, and
then looking across in perplexity at Claire.

What he read in the girl's eyes seemed to shame him, just a
little. For, as he turned back to Gavin, there was an
apologetic aspect on his bearded face. Brice decided to force
the playing. Before his host could speak or Claire could
interfere, he rose to a sitting position, with some effort and
more pain, and, clutching the head of the couch, lurched to
his feet.

"No, no!" called Claire, running forward to support him as he
swayed a bit. "Don't try to stand! Lie down again! You're
as white as a ghost."