had had no desire to have a woman at the Manor to fill her place, even as
housekeeper. He had never swerved from that. He had had a hard row to
hoe, but he had hoed it with a will not affected by domestic accidents or
inconveniences. The one woman from outside whom he permitted to go and
come at will--and she did not come often, because she and M. Fille agreed
it would be best not to do so--was the sister of the Cure. To be sure
there was Seraphe Corniche, the old cook, but she was buried in her
kitchen, and Jean Jacques treated her like a man.

When Zoe was confirmed, and had come back from Montreal, having spent two
years in a convent there--the only time she had been away from her father
in seven years--having had her education chiefly from a Catholic
"brother," the situation developed in a new way. Zoe at once became
as conspicuous in the country-side as her father had been over so many
years. She was fresh, volatile, without affectation or pride, and had
a temperament responsive to every phase of life's simple interests.
She took the attention of the young men a little bit as her due, but yet
without conceit. The gallants had come about her like bees, for there
was Jean Jacques' many businesses and his reputation for wealth; and
there was her own charm, concerning which there could be far less doubt
than about Jean Jacques' magnificent solvency.

Zoe had gone heart-whole and with no especial preference for any young
man, until the particular person came, the Man from Outside.

His name was Gerard Fynes, and his business was mumming. He was a young
lawyer turned actor, and he had lived in Montreal before he went on the
stage. He was English--that was a misfortune; he was an actor--that was
a greater misfortune, for it suggested vagabondage of morals as well as
of profession; and he was a Protestant, which was the greatest misfortune