"We are very sorry you are going," she continued; "somehow we hardly antic.i.p.ated it. Have you ever thought of coming back for good?"

She was unconsciously giving him the lead he desired, but he would not seize it precipitately; he was half afraid.

"No," he answered, smiling; "my work's out yonder. I couldn't sit idle. I think Miss Gladwyne hit it when she told me that I was one of the pioneers."

His hostess showed more comprehension than he had looked for.

"Yes; I set you down as one of the men who prefer heat and cold, want of food, and toil, to the comforts they could have at home. I have met a few, sons of my old friends, and heard of others. After all, we have a good many of them in England."

"Troublesome people, aren't they? What do you do with them?"

"Let them go. How do we rule India and hold so much of Africa? How did we open up Canada for you?"

He nodded.

"That's right. It doesn't matter that in respect to Canada the sons of Highland peasants did their share; the Hudson Bay people and the Laurentian Frenchmen showed us the way. We found out what kind of men they were when we went in after them."

There was silence for a few moments and he glanced at her with admiration. The honorable pride of caste she had shown strongly appealed to him. She stood for all that was fine in the old regime, and once more he wondered how such a woman could have borne such a son.

"I'm returning because business calls," he explained. "My means won't keep me in idleness, and that fact has a bearing on the question as to whether I'll ever come back again. It's a very momentous one to me."

She waited, noticing with some surprise the sudden tenseness of his expression, until he spoke again, hesitatingly.

"You are the only person I can come to for advice. I'd be grateful for your opinion."

"I'll try to give it carefully," she promised.

"Well," he said, "the life you people lead here has its attractions; they must be strong to you. It would be hard to break with all its a.s.sociations, to face one that was new and different; I mean for a woman to do so?"

"Ah!" she exclaimed, seeing the drift of his remarks at last. "You had better tell me whom you are thinking of."

"Millicent."

She started. This was a painful surprise, though she now wondered why she had never suspected it. He had met the girl frequently before his accident, and she had since gone over to Nasmyth's to talk with him now and then; yet, for some not very obvious reason, n.o.body seemed to have contemplated the possibility of his falling in love with her. Mrs.

Gladwyne had undoubtedly not done so, and she was filled with alarm. It was most desirable that Millicent should marry Clarence.

"How long have you had this in your mind?" she asked.

"That is more than I can tell you," he answered thoughtfully. "I admired her greatly the first time I saw her; I admired her more when we made friends, but I don't think I went much farther for a while. In Tact, I believe it was only when I knew I must go back soon that I realized how strong a hold she had on me, and then I fought against yielding. The difficulties to be got over looked so serious."

"Has Millicent any suspicion of your regard for her?" It was an important question and Mrs. Gladwyne waited in suspense for his reply.

"Not the slightest, so far as I can tell. I tried to hide my feelings until I could come to a decision as to what I ought to do."

This was satisfactory, provided that his supposition was correct, and his companion could imagine his exercising a good deal of self-repression.

"What is your fear?" she asked.

"Well, I'm rough and unpolished compared with Nasmyth and the rest, but with her large mind she might overlook that. I couldn't live here as Nasmyth and Clarence do; I'm not rich enough. My wife, if I marry, must come out West with me, and I might have to be away from her for months now and then. I don't know that I could even establish myself in Victoria, where she would find something resembling your English society.

Besides, my small share of prosperity might come to an end; I'm going back now, sooner than I expected, because there are business difficulties to be grappled with."

Mrs. Gladwyne nodded. She could follow his thought, but after a pause he continued.

"What troubles me most is that Millicent seems so much in harmony with her surroundings. We have nothing like them in Canada--anyway, not in the West. Whether ours are better or worse doesn't affect the case; they're widely different. There is much she would have to give up; what I could offer her in place of it would be new and strange, less finished, less refined. Could a woman of your station stand it? Would she suffer from being torn adrift from the a.s.sociations that surround her here?"

His companion considered. Allowing for his generosity in thinking first of Millicent, he was a little too practical and dispa.s.sionate. She did not think he was very greatly in love with the girl as yet, and that was consoling. What Millicent thought she did not know, but in many respects the man was eminently likable. Mrs. Gladwyne had grown fond of him; but that must not be allowed to stand in her son's way. Clarence came before anybody else.

"I feel my responsibility," she said slowly. "Would you act on my advice?"

"I think so--it might be hard. Anyway, I'd try."

She hesitated. The man had won her respect. Had she been wholly free from extraneous influences she might, perhaps, have counseled him to make the venture, but half-consciously she tried to see only the shadows in the picture he had drawn.

"Well," she answered him, "until two years ago Millicent lived in this house--that must have had its effect on her."

"Yes," he agreed; "she shows it. These old places set their stamp on people--it's very plain on you."

Mrs. Gladwyne saw that he understood, but she felt half guilty as she proceeded:

"You admit that you could not give her anything of this kind in Canada?"

He laughed rather grimly.

"No; our homes were built yesterday, and we move on rapidly--they'll be pulled down again to-morrow. I'll own that our ideas and manners are in the same unfinished, transitory stage. We haven't been able to sit down and learn how to be graceful."

She made a sign of comprehension, though her reluctance to proceed grew stronger. He was very honest and there was pain in his face.

"Millicent," she said, "is essentially one of us, used to what we consider needful, bred to our ways. The endless small amenities which make life smooth here have always surrounded her. Can you imagine her, for instance, living with the Marples?"

"No," he replied harshly; "I can't."

"Then do you think it would be wise to take her to Canada?"

"I have thought she would not mind giving up many things she values, if one could win her affection."

"That is very true; but it doesn't get over the difficulty. It isn't so very hard to nerve oneself to make a sacrifice, it's the facing of the inevitable results when the reaction sets in that tells. She would continually miss something she had been used to and she would long for it."

He sat silent for nearly a minute, with his face set hard, and then he looked up.

"If Millicent were your daughter, would you let her go?"

Again Mrs. Gladwyne hesitated. His confidence hurt her; she shrank from delivering what she thought would be the final blow, but she strove to a.s.sure herself that she was acting in Millicent's best interest.

"No," she answered, "not unless she was pa.s.sionately attached to the man who wished to take her out, and then I should do my utmost to dissuade her."

He made no answer for a few moments. Then slowly he rose.

"Thank you," he said gravely. "I'm afraid you're right. It's generally hard to do what one ought. Well,"--he took the hand she held out--"I'm grateful to you in many ways and I'd like you to remember me now and then."