Part 6 (1/2)

”I shall be very sorry to leave, and I believe Florence and Harry feel the same.”

”But you are going to British Columbia and down the Pacific Coast. You will revel in new experiences and interesting sights.”

”I suppose so,” she answered, rather listlessly. ”We shall get a glimpse of a new country, but that will be all. On the steamers we'll meet much the kind of people we are accustomed to, and no doubt we'll stay at hotels built especially for luxurious tourists. You see, we take our usual environment along with us.”

”But isn't that what you like?”

”I don't know; perhaps it ought to be.” Muriel paused and looked up at him with candid eyes. ”You hinted that we had given you a new and wider outlook--or brought back the one you used to have, which is what you must have meant. You don't seem to realize that you have done much the same thing to me.”

”I'm not sure I understand.”

”It shouldn't be difficult. You know the kind of people I have hitherto met, and how we spend our time in a round of amus.e.m.e.nts that lead to nothing, with all that could jar on one carefully kept away. This is the first time I've come into touch with strenuous, normal life.”

”And it doesn't seem to have frightened you?”

”No,” she said with a smile; ”I'm not in the least afraid--why should I be? I must have more courage than you think, but does one need a great deal of it to live here?”

He looked at her in grave admiration. There was a hint of pride in her pose, and her eyes were calm.

”I believe if ever a time of stress came, you wouldn't shrink. But this is a pretty hard and lonely country, especially in winter.”

Muriel changed the subject.

”For all that, I feel you are right in staying, Cyril. Have you written to your people?”

Prescott felt embarra.s.sed and guilty, as he generally did when, in confidential moments, she called him by Jernyngham's name. Somehow he could not imagine her saying Jack.

”No,” he rejoined slowly. ”Of course, they must be written to.”

Muriel did not answer. The turn their conversation had taken had filled her with a vague unrest as she looked back at the life she had led. Three or four years ago it had seemed filled with glamour and excitement, and she had entered on its pleasures with eager zest, but of late she had begun to find them wearisome. They no longer satisfied her. If this were the result of a few years' experience, what would she feel when she had grown jaded with time and everything was stale? Then her glimpse of the simple, healthful western life had come as a revelation. It was real, a bracing struggle, in which no effort was wasted but produced tangible results: broad stretches of splendid wheat, sweeps of azure flax.

But this was not all. She felt drawn to her brown-faced companion, who had obviously redeemed whatever errors he had been guilty of in the past.

She had known him for only about a fortnight, but she had seen his admiration for her with a satisfaction that was slightly tempered by misgivings. She could not tell exactly what she expected from him, but she had at least looked for some expression of a wish that their acquaintance should not end abruptly on the morrow. She did not think she would have resented a carefully modified display of the gallantry Cyril Jernyngham must be capable of, if reports were true. Considering what his past was supposed to have been, the grave man who watched her with troubled eyes was hard to understand.

”Cyril,” she asked, ”has Harry given you our address at Glacier and Banff?”

He supposed that this implied permission to write to her, but he could not do so as Jack Prescott and he already bitterly regretted that he had allowed her to think of him as Jernyngham.

”Yes,” he said, with a carelessness which cost him an effort. ”But I'm afraid I'm not a good correspondent. I'm too busy, for one thing.”

”Too busy?” she mocked, with a stronger color in her face. ”Can't you spare half an hour from your plowing to write to your friends?”

”Well,” he answered with forced coolness, ”it's difficult, except, of course, in the winter and you'll be back in England then, with so many festivities on hand that you won't be anxious to hear about Canada.”

She looked at him for a moment, puzzled and a little angry, and he guessed her thoughts. He was behaving like a boor; but it was better that she should think him one.

”How very un-English you have become!” she said.