One can not
afford to be fanciful when wheat is two cents down."
Maud Barrington was not astonished. Tireless in his activities and,
more curious still, almost ascetic in his mode of life, the man had
already given her glimpses of his inner self and the vague longings
that came upon him. He never asked her pity, but she found something
pathetic in his attitude, for it seemed he knew that the stress and the
turmoil alone could be his. Why this was so she did not know, but it
was with a confidence that could not be shaken now she felt it was
through no fault of his. His last words, however, showed her that the
mask was on again.
"I scarcely fancy you are well enough, but if you must go, I wonder
whether you would do a good turn to Alfreton?" she said. "The lad has
been speculating--and he seems anxious lately."
"It is natural that they should all bring their troubles to you."
Maud Barrington laughed. "I, however, generally pass them on to you."
A trace of color crept into the man's face, and his voice was a trifle
hoarse as he said, "Do you know that I would ask nothing better than to
take every care you had, and bear it for you?"
"Still," said the girl, with a little smile, "that is very evidently
out of the question."
Winston rose, and she saw that one hand was closed as he looked down
upon her. Then he turned and stared out at the prairie, but there was
something very significant in the rigidity of his attitude, and his
face seemed to have grown suddenly careworn when he glanced back at her.
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