But Peter never had.  His melancholy faith in his father’s race had left no thought of his mother’s blood mingling with it.  “But,” he said gravely, “believing this, why did you change?”

“Because I could hold out no longer.  I should have gone crazy.  Times I wanted to take some of those meek nuns, some of those white-faced pupils with their blue eyes and wavy flaxen hair, and strangle them.  I couldn’t strive and pray and struggle any longer there, and so I came here to let myself out!  I suppose when I get married—­and I ought to, with my money—­it may change me!  You don’t suppose,” she said, with a return of her wild-animal-like timidity, “it is anything that was in father, in those Atherlys,—­do you?”

But Peter had no idea of anything but virtue in the Atherly blood; he had heard that the upper class of Europeans were fond of field sports and of hunting; it was odd that his sister should inherit this propensity and not he.  He regarded her more kindly for this evidence of race.  “You think of getting married?” he said more gently, yet with a certain brotherly doubt that any man could like her enough, even with her money.  “Is there any one here would—­suit you?” he added diplomatically.

“No—­I hate them all!” she burst out.  “There isn’t one I don’t despise for his sickening, foppish, womanish airs.”

Nevertheless, it was quite evident that some of the men were attracted by her singular originality and a certain good comradeship in her ways.  And it was on one of their riding excursions that Peter noticed that she was singled out by a good-looking, blond-haired young lawyer of the town for his especial attentions.  As the cavalcade straggled in climbing the mountain, the young fellow rode close to her saddle-bow, and as the distance lengthened between the other stragglers, they at last were quite alone.  When the trail became more densely wooded, Peter quite lost sight of them.  But when, a few moments later, having lost the trail himself, they again appeared in the distance before him, he was so amazed that he unconsciously halted.  For the two horses were walking side by side, and the stranger’s arm was round his sister’s waist.

Had Peter any sense of humor he might have smiled at this weakness in his Amazonian sister, but he saw only the serious, practical side of the situation, with, of course, its inevitable relation to his one controlling idea.  The young man was in good practice, and would have made an eligible husband to any one else.  But was he fit to mate with an Atherly?  What would those as yet unknown and powerful relatives say to it?  At the same time he could not help knowing that “Jinny,” in the eccentricities of her virgin spinsterhood, might be equally objectionable to them, as she certainly was a severe trial to him here.  If she were off his hands he might be able to prosecute his search for his relatives with more freedom.  After all, there were mesalliances in