About a fortnight after Vane's return to Vancouver, he sat one evening on the veranda of Nairn's house, in company with his host and Carroll, lazily looking down upon the inlet. The days were growing shorter; the air was clear and cool; and the snow upon the heights across the still, blue water was creeping lower down. The clatter of a steamer's winches rose sharply from the wharf, and the sails of two schooners gleamed against the dark pines that overhang the Narrows.

In some respects, Vane was glad to be back in the western city. At first, the ease and leisure at the Dene had their charm for him, but by degrees he came to chafe at them. The green English valley, hemmed in by its sheltering hills, was steeped in too profound a tranquillity; the stream of busy life passed it by with scarcely an entering ripple to break its drowsy calm. One found its atmosphere enervating, dulling to the faculties. In the new West, however, one was forcibly thrust into contact with a strenuous activity. Life was free and untrammeled there; it flowed with a fierce joyousness in natural channels, and one could feel the eager throb of it.

Yet the man was not content. He had been to the mine, and in going and coming he had ridden far over a very rough trail, but the physical effort had not afforded a sufficient outlet for his pent-up energies. He had afterward lounged about the city for nearly a week, and he found this becoming monotonous.

Nairn presently referred to one of the papers in his hand.

"Horsfield has been bringing up that smelter project again, and there's something to be said in favor of his views," he remarked. "We're paying a good deal for reduction."

"We couldn't keep a smelter going, at present," Vane objected.

"There are two or three low-grade mineral properties in the neighborhood of the Clermont that have had very little development work done on them. They can't pay freight on their raw product, but I'm thinking that we'd encourage their owners to open up the mines, and we'd get their business, if we had a smelter handy."

"It wouldn't amount to much," Vane replied. "Besides, there's another objection—we haven't the money to put up a thoroughly efficient plant."

"Horsfield's ready to find part of it and to do the work."

"I know he is." Vane frowned. "It strikes me he's suspiciously anxious. The arrangement he has in view would give him a pretty strong hold upon the company; and there are ways in which he could squeeze us."

"It's possible. But, looking at it as a purely personal matter, there are inducements he could offer ye. Horsfield's a man who has the handling of other folks' money, if he has no that much of his own. It might be wise to stand in with him."

"So he hinted," Vane answered dryly.

"Your argument was about the worst you could have used, Mr. Nairn,"
Carroll laughed.

"Weel," drawled Nairn good-humoredly, "I'm no urging it. I would not see your partner make enemies for the want of a warning."

"He'd probably do so, in any case; it's a gift of his. On the other hand, it's fortunate that he has a way of making friends. The two things sometimes go together."

Vane turned to Nairn with signs of impatience.

"It might save trouble if I state that while I'm a director of the Clermont I expect to be content with a fair profit on my stock in the company."

"He's modest," Carroll commented. "What he means is that he doesn't propose to augment that profit by taking advantage of his position."

"It's a creditable idea, though I'm no sure it's as common as might be desired. While I have to thank ye for it, I would not consider the explanation altogether necessary." Nairn's eyes twinkled for a moment, and then he turned seriously to Vane. "Now we come to another point—the company's a small one, the mine is doing satisfactorily, and the moment's favorable for the floating of mineral properties. If we got an option on the half-developed claims near the Clermont and went into the market, it's likely that an issue of new stock would meet with the favor of investors."

"I suppose so," Vane responded. "I'll support such a scheme when I can see how an increased capital could be used to advantage and am convinced about the need for a smelter. At present that's not the case."

"I mentioned it as a duty—-ye'll hear more of it. For the rest, I'm inclined to agree with ye."

A few minutes later, Nairn went into the house with Carroll, and as they entered he glanced at his companion.

"In the present instance, Mr. Vane's views are sound," he said. "But I see difficulties before him in his business career."

"So do I," smiled Carroll. "When he grapples with them it will be by a frontal attack."

"A bit of compromise is judicious now and then."

"In a general way, it's not likely to appeal to Vane. When he can't get through by direct means, there'll be something wrecked. You'd better understand what kind of man he is."

Nairn made a sign of concurrence.

"It's no the first time I've been enlightened upon the point."

Shortly after they had disappeared, Miss Horsfield came out of another door, and Vane rose when she approached him. He had always found her a pleasant companion.

"Mrs. Nairn told me I would find you and the others on the veranda," she informed him. "She said she would join you presently. It is too fine an evening to stay in."

"I'm alone, as you see. Nairn and Carroll have just deserted me: but I can't complain. What pleases me most about this house is that you can do what you like in it, and—within limits—the same thing applies to this city."

Jessy laughed as she sank gracefully into the chair he drew forward. She was, as a rule, deliberate in her movements, and her pose was usually an effective one.

"Yes," she replied; "I think that would please you. But how long have you been back?"

"A fortnight, yesterday."

There was a hint of reproach in Jessy's glance.

"Then I think Mrs. Nairn might have brought you over to see us."

Vane wondered whether she meant that she was surprised that he had not come of his own accord. He felt mildly flattered. She was interesting, and knew how to listen sympathetically, as well as how to talk, and she was also a lady of station in the western city.

"I was away at the mine a good deal of the time," he explained.

"I wonder if you are sorry to get back?"

Turning a little, Vane indicated the climbing city, rising tier on tier above its water-front; and then the broad expanse of blue inlet and the faint white line of towering snow.

"Wouldn't anything I could say in praise of Vancouver be a trifle superfluous?" he asked.

Jessy recognized that he had parried her question neatly, but this did not deter her. She was anxious to learn whether he had felt any regret at leaving England, or, to be more concise, if there was anybody in that country from whom he had reluctantly parted. She admitted that the man attracted her. There was a breezy freshness about him which he had brought from the rocks and woods, and though she was acquainted with a number of young men whose conversation was characterized by snap and sparkle, they needed toning down. This miner was set apart from them by something which he had doubtless acquired in youth in the older land.

"That wasn't quite what I meant," she returned. "We don't always want to be flattered. I'm in search of information. You told me that you had been eight or nine years in this country, and life must be rather different yonder. How did it and the people you belong to strike you after the absence?"

"It's difficult to explain," Vane replied with an air of amused reflection which hinted that he meant to get away from the point. "On the whole, I think I'm more interested in the question as to how I struck them. It's curious that whereas some people here insist on considering me English, I've a suspicion that they looked upon me as a typical Colonial there."

"One wouldn't like to think you resented it."

"How could I? This land sheltered me when I was an outcast; it provided me with a living, widened my views, and set me on my feet."

"Ah!" murmured Jessy, "you are the kind we don't mind taking in. The others go back and try to forget us, or abuse us. But you haven't given me very much information yet."

"Well," drawled Vane, "the best comparison is supplied by my first remark—that in this city you can do what you like. You're rather fenced in yonder. If you're of a placid disposition, that, no doubt, is comforting, because it shuts out unpleasant things. On the other hand, if you happen to be restless and active, the fences are inconvenient, for you can't always climb over—and it is not considered proper to break them down. Still, having admitted that, I'm proud of the old land. If one has means and will conform, it's the finest country in the world! It's only the fences that irritate me."

"Fences would naturally be obnoxious to you. But we have some here."

"They're generally built loose, of split-rails, and not nailed. An energetic man can pull off a bar or two and stride over. If it's necessary, he can afterward put them up again, and there's no harm done."

"Would you do the latter?"

Vane's expression changed.

"No. I think if there were anything good on the other side, I'd widen the gap so that the less agile and the needy could crawl through." He smiled at her. "You see, I owe some of them a good deal. They were the only friends I had when I first tramped, jaded and footsore, about the Province."

Jessy was pleased with his answer. She had heard of the free hospitality of the bush choppers, and she thought it was a graceful thing that he should acknowledge his debt to them. She was also pleased that she could lead him on to talk unreservedly.

"Now at last you'll be content to rest a while," she suggested. "I dare say you deserve it."

"It's strange that you should say that, because just before you came out of the house I was thinking that I'd sat still long enough. It's a thing that gets monotonous. One must keep going on."

"Take care that you don't walk over a precipice some day when you have left all the fences behind. But I've kept you from your meditations, and I had better see if Mrs. Nairn is coming."

He was sitting alone, lighting a cigar, when he noticed a girl whose appearance seemed familiar in the road below. Moving along the veranda, he recognized her as Kitty, and hastily crossed the lawn toward her. She was accompanied by a young man whom Vane had once or twice seen in the city, and she greeted him with evident pleasure.

"Tom," she introduced, when they had exchanged a few words, "this is Mr.
Vane." Turning to Vane she added: "Mr. Drayton."

Vane liked the man's face and manner. He shook hands with him, and then looked back at Kitty.

"What are you doing now; and how are little Elsie and her mother?"

Kitty's face clouded.

"Mrs. Marvin's dead. Elsie's with some friends at Spokane, and I think she's well looked after. I've given up the stage. Tom"—she explained shyly—"didn't like it. Now I'm with some people at a ranch near the Fraser, on the Westminster road. There are two or three children, and I'm very fond of them."

"She won't be there long," Drayton interposed. "I've wanted to meet you for some time, Mr. Vane. They told me at the office that you were away."

Vane smiled comprehendingly.

"I suppose my congratulations will not be out of place? Won't you ask me to the wedding?"

Kitty blushed.

"Will you come?"

"Try!"

"There's nobody we would rather see," declared Drayton. "I'm heavily in your debt, Mr. Vane."

"Pshaw!" rejoined Vane. "Come to see me any time—to-morrow, if you can manage it."

Drayton said that he would do so, and shortly afterward he and Kitty moved away. Vane turned back across the lawn; but he was not aware that Jessy Horsfield had watched the meeting from the veranda and had recognized Kitty, whom she had once seen at the station. She had already ascertained that the girl had arrived in Vancouver in Vane's company, and, in view of the opinion she had formed of him, this somewhat puzzled her; but she decided that one must endeavor to be charitable. Besides, having closely watched the little group, she was inclined to believe from the way Vane shook hands with the man that there was no danger to be apprehended from Kitty.