“Why, look you, Loskiel, even in the wilderness somehow I always have contrived to discover a sweetheart of some sort or other — yes, even in the Iroquois country, cleared or bush, somehow or other, sooner or later, I stumble on some pretty maid who flutters up in the very wilderness like a partridge from under my feet!”

“That is your reputation,” I remarked.

“Oh, damme, no!” he protested. “Don’t say it is my reputation!”

But he had that reputation, whether he realised it or not; though as far as I had seen there was no real harm in the man — only a willingness to make love to any petticoat, if its wearer were pretty. But my own notions had ever inclined me toward quality.