The Fur Bringers | Page 8

Gaviller and Colina were at breakfast in the big clap-boarded villa at Fort Enterprise.
They were a good-looking pair, and at heart not dissimilar, though it must be taken into account that the same qualities manifest themselves differently in a man of affairs and a romantic, irresponsible young woman.
They were secretly proud of each other--and quarreled continually. Colina, by virtue of her reckless honesty, frequently got the better of her canny father.
"Well," he said, now with a gesture of surrender, "if you're determined to stay here, all right--but you must live differently."
At the word "must" an ominous gleam shot from under Colina's lashes.
"What's the matter with my way of living?" she asked with deceitful mildness.
"This tearing around the country on horseback," he said. "Going off all day hunting with this man and that--and spending the night in native cabins. As long as I considered you were here on a visit I said nothing--"
"Oh, didn't you!" murmured Colina sarcastically.
"--But if you are going to make this country your home, you must consider your reputation in the community just the same as anywhere else--more, indeed; we live in a tiny little world here, where our smallest actions are scrutinized and discussed."
He took a swallow of coffee. Colina played with her food sulkily.
Her silence encouraged him to proceed: "Another thing," he said with a deprecating smile, "comparatively speaking, I occupy an exalted position now. I am the head of all things, such as they are. Great or small this entails certain obligations on a man. I have to study all my words and acts.
"If you are going to stay here with me I shall expect you to assume your share; to consider my interests, to support me; to play the game as they say. What I object to is your impulsiveness, your outspokenness with the people. Remember, everybody here is your dependent. It is always a mistake to be open and frank with dependents. They don't understand it, and if they do, they presume upon it.
"Be guided by my experience; no one could justly accuse me of any lack of affability or friendliness in dealing with the people here--but they never know what I am thinking of!"
"Admirable!" murmured Colina, "but I'm not a directors' meeting!"
"Colina!" said her father indignantly.
"It's not fair for you to drag that in about my standing by you and supporting you!" she went on warmly. "You know I'll do that as long as I live! But I must be allowed to do it in my own way. I'm an adult and an individual. I differ from you. I've a right to differ from you. It is because these people are my inferiors that I can afford to be perfectly natural with them. As for their presuming on it, you needn't fear! I know how to take care of that!"
"A little more reserve," murmured her father.
Colina paused and looked at him levelly. "Dad, what a fool you are about me!" she said coolly.
"Colina!" he cried again, and pounded the table.
She met his indignant glance squarely.
"I mean it," she said. "I'm your daughter, am I not?--and mother's? You must know yourself by this time; you must have known mother--you ought to understand me a little but you won't try--you're clever enough in everything else! You've made up an idea for yourself of what a daughter ought to be, and you're always trying to make me fit it!"
Gaviller scarcely listened to this. "I'll have to bring in a chaperon for you!" he cried.
"Oh, Lord!" groaned Colina. "Anything but that! What do you want me to do?"
"Merely to live like other girls," said Gaviller; "to observe the proprieties."
"That's why I couldn't get along at school," muttered Colina gloomily. "You might as well send me back."
"You're simply headstrong!" said her father severely. "You won't try to be different."
"Dad," said Colina suddenly, "what did you come north for in the first place, thirty years ago?"
The question caught him a little off his guard. "A natural love of adventure, I suppose," he said carelessly.
"Perfectly natural!" said Colina. "Was your father pleased?"
Gaviller began to see her drift. "No!" he said testily.
"And when you went back for her," Colina persisted, "didn't my mother run away north with you, against the wishes of her parents?"
"Your mother was a saint!" cried Gaviller indignantly.
"Certainly," said Colina coolly, "but not the psalm-singing kind. What do you expect of the child of such a couple?"
"Not another word!" cried Gaviller, banging the table--last refuge of outraged fathers.
Colina was unimpressed. "Now you're simply raising a dust to conceal the issue," she said relentlessly.
Gaviller chewed his mustache in offended silence.
Colina did not spare him. "Do you think you can make your child and hers into a prim miss, to sit at home and work embroidery?" she demanded. "Upon my word, if I were a boy I believe