Mrs. Rennie was an excellent hostess. Her cultured and charming personality put Donald quite at ease. It seemed ages since he had worn a dress-suit and been entertained in a home of luxury and refinement. After the coarse fare of noisy restaurants which had been his, the excellent food, the rich linen, the home-like atmosphere and the subdued voices now gave him a pleasant thrill.
The conversation during dinner was on various subjects. At times it swung perilously near to matters pertaining to Donald’s personal affairs. On such occasions Douglas adroitly shifted it to other channels.
Janet studied Donald covertly. His perfect poise, his air of refinement and his evident lack of self-consciousness impressed her. “He is cultured and well-bred,” she thought as she noted his well-shaped head, his powerful shoulders and his clean-cut profile.
Near the finish of dinner, while waiting for coffee to be served, there came a lull in the conversation which was finally broken by Janet. “Doug tells me that you are engaged in the glove business, Mr. McLean,” she stated.
Donald shot a quick glance at Douglas, but his friend’s face was hidden in his handkerchief to smother a sudden attack of coughing. In spite of Donald’s great effort at self-control, he felt a warm flush rise in his cheeks. What had Douglas divulged? Did his sister know of his participation in a boxing-match? He looked at Douglas appealingly. It was evident that he would receive no aid from that quarter, as that young man’s only assistance was a prolonged coughing that effectually drowned immediate conversation, but would have to stop sooner or later for lack of breath.
At this crucial moment Robert Rennie came to his assistance. “I would like Mr. McLean to witness a sunset from our roof,” he said as he rose from the table. “Let us have our coffee served there. The light will be gone if we wait longer.”
As they ascended the stairs Donald gave his host a grateful look, which Mr. Rennie returned understandingly. That moment cemented an instant friendship in Donald’s heart for this broad-minded Western millionaire.
From the eminence of the tiny roof garden the City, sliced with streets, lay at their feet. To the north the mountains were invested with a mystic blue haze, through which towered the snow-clad peaks. To the west lay the curving white sands of English Bay, and beyond, in the clear air of the long British Columbia twilight, they could see the strong mountainous profile of Vancouver Island.
“The topography of our City,” explained Robert Rennie, “lying between Burrard Inlet and False Creek, is very much like that of New York on Manhattan Island. The narrows are deep enough for the largest ship afloat, and the Inlet—a veritable inland sea—has unlimited room for docks.
“The name ‘Narrows’ seems a feeble word for such a magnificent spot,” observed Donald.