"If that was all, I don't call it 'love.'" Magda spoke with decision, though an odd consciousness came over her that the devotion which she herself had poured upon Patricia might be described in those terms.
"You don't know anything about it. I'm glad we broke off in time. And he has his beloved slums. That is all he really cares for."
"He mayn't have them long. There's some idea of his going to Canada."
Patricia sat suddenly upright, and her pale face grew quite white. "Canada! Why! What for?"
"There's a great want for more men in the North-West—men of his stamp, it is said. The Bishop there has begged for Rob; and Rob is thinking what to do. He likes the idea. Mother is sorry; but she won't try to prevent his going."
"If he does, I suppose you will go too some day, and keep house for him. Your old notion!" There was a hard little laugh; but Magda, occupied with her own thoughts, did not notice it.
"Oh, I don't know," she said uncertainly. "I—perhaps I shall—some day."
"You used to rave about the prospect." Patricia leant back with a sigh.
"Are you tired? Would you like me to go?"
"It doesn't matter. Yes, I'm tired—I always am. And you can go as soon as you like. There's nothing to keep you here. I'm not going to be a bore to people."