aimed impatiently.

Edgar mentally compared Flora Grant with Sylvia, in whom he
disbelieved, and found it hard to restrain himself. It was, he felt, a
great misfortune that George could not be made to see.

"Oh, well!" he acquiesced. "I could say a good deal more, if I thought
it would do any good, but as that doesn't seem likely I'll dry up."

"That's a comfort," George said shortly.

He left the granary in a thoughtful mood, and on the following evening
drove over to the Grant homestead. Its owner was busy somewhere
outside when he reached it, but Flora received him and he sat down with
satisfaction to talk to her. It had become a pleasure to visit the
Grants; he felt at home in their house. The absence of all ceremony,
the simple Canadian life, had a growing attraction for him. One could
get to know these people, which was a different thing from merely
meeting them, and George thought this was to some extent the effect of
their surroundings. He had always been conscious of a closer and more
intimate contact with his friends upon the mountain-side or the banks
of some salmon river than he had ever experienced in a club or
drawing-room. For all that, Flora sometimes slightly puzzled him. She
was free from the affectations and restraints of artificial
conventionality, but there was a reserve about her which he failed to
penetrate. He wondered what lay behind it and had a curious feeling
that Edgar either guessed or knew.

"Did you enjoy your visit to Winnipeg?" she asked.

"It was a pleasant change and I got through my business satisfactorily.
Of course, I didn't go for amusement."

Flora laughed.

"So I supposed; you're growing more Canadian every day. But you meant
to make a visit to England, which couldn't have had any connection with
business, last winter, didn't you?"

George's face grew serious. He had, she thought, not got over his
disappointment.

"Yes," he said. "But there was nothing to be done here then."

"So the things that should be done invariably come first with you?"

"In this case--I mean as far as they concern the farm--it's necessary."

Flora considered his answer, studying him quietly, though she had some
sewing in her hands. Supposing, as she had once thought, there was
some English girl he had longed to see, he could have made the journey
later, when his crop had been sown, even though this entailed some
neglect of minor operations that required his care. He received,