Wainwright paced nervously with hands clasped behind his back. “Pardon my abrupt manner,” he said contritely, “I am a bit out of sorts to-day.”
Every evening Donald called at the Wainwright home, bringing little delicacies carefully prepared by Andy. Once he spoke to Connie from outside the door, and her answering voice gave him an odd thrill. He pondered over this as he made his way down the hill. He was struck by a sudden thought. His face broke into a smile and he shrugged his shoulders. “Nonsense,” he said aloud.
Janet remained several days after her friends had returned to the city. She had tried in vain to restore the familiar relations which formerly existed between herself and Donald. His evening visits to the cabin on the mountain deprived her of his company, and she, half-jestingly, reproved him for his inattention to her. With spirits depressed and a despondent look in her dark eyes, Janet returned to Vancouver.
One evening Wainwright gave Donald a letter to post, addressed to a big departmental store in Vancouver. A few days later there arrived numerous bundles and boxes, including a big trunk. Donald with the assistance of Gillis’s crew carried them up the hill.
“I’ve brought your big trunk with the ‘bulgy top,’ Miss Wainwright,” he called.
Connie sat up in her bunk so quickly that her head bumped the boards above. “Miss Wainwright” he had called her! Her eyes glowed in the dusky half-light. “Thank you so much,” she replied.
The next day Wainwright informed Donald that Connie was up and would see him.
“Just a minute, Dad,” she cried as she heard them approaching.
Feverishly she rushed to the small mirror to glance at her reflection. With nervous hands she fluffed the hair about her ears and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the collar of her dress. Then she sat down gravely and arranged her skirts about her.
“Come in,” she called.