Janet scrutinized Connie’s faded blue overalls and coarse cotton shirt, which, even though loose and ill-fitting, could not conceal the graceful lines of the childish figure. Confused by the cold reception, her eyes wide and misty with a hint of pain, Connie turned quickly away.
Moving with the easy grace and freedom that an empress might envy, Connie walked to the side of her cayuse, and with characteristic bird-like motion sprang to his back. Her moccasined feet struck his sides, and with ears flattened Pegasus leaped forward with a speed that sent Connie’s hair streaming. His spurning hoofs sent a cloud of dust in their faces, then horse and rider went tearing down the hill.
Janet stood staring after the flying rider, a look of blank astonishment on her face.
Connie’s visits to the mill ceased, but from the highest point on the bluff she watched the merry-makers with keen interest as, dressed in natty riding costumes, they rode their stylish horses, disported themselves in bathing-suits on the sandy beach, paddled the lake in light, graceful canoes, or chugged about in the shiny white motor-boat. For two evenings she sat with a feeling of dreary lonesomeness while Donald and Janet floated on the placid lake in one of the tiny canoes, their subdued voices and gentle laughter coming up faintly from below.
During the evenings she spent with Donald, Janet was assailed by fleeting emotions in which she tried to define her attitude toward him. She felt that the time was not far distant when some definition would be necessary. In a number of artful ways she had tried, but without success, to lead him to talk of himself. When she put a direct question she saw the lines about his mouth tighten, and his reply carried a tone of such unmistakable rebuke that her face reddened and the subject was instantly dropped.
On the night before Janet’s departure a dance was arranged, to which the clerical staff of the Cheakamus Mill was invited. Gillis promised a special feature on the programme in the form of an old-fashioned square-dance with his “redshirts” as the performers.
All that day the skies drizzled continuously; lake and mountain were hidden under a heavy mist. The inclement weather did not dampen the ardour of the merry crowd, who, in slickers and oilskins of every description, gathered flowers and trees to decorate the big dining-room that was to be used as a dance-hall.
That night, lights gleamed from every window of the big room, which had undergone a sudden transformation. The walls were one mass of wild flowers, and on the beams overhead small cedars and jackpines stood upright in rows, adding a pungent odour to the air, already burdened with the sweet smell of wild flowers. The music of the phonograph flowed out of the open door to vibrate softly through the dripping trees.
Connie learned of the dance, and after dark she slipped quietly down into the valley. She crouched by the open window, heedless of the rain dripping from the eaves, her eyes glued upon the enchanting scene within. She saw Donald and Janet gliding across the floor, and she marvelled at the grace of their movements. The hum of talk, the constant ripple of feminine laughter, the rustle of silken skirts, were all foreign to Connie. She felt a touch of intense and utter loneliness, like a stranger in a strange land.
Janet seemed to have thrown aside her cloak of reserve; she brimmed over with an unwonted gaiety, but at times her big brown eyes held a troubled look as they rested on Donald.