Wainwright’s manner was that of the owner of a baronial estate entertaining guests under the most luxurious surroundings. His cheeks were flushed, and he seemed filled with a boyish happiness. “It no doubt will seem incomprehensible to you,” he remarked with a smile, “when I say that, with the exception of John Hillier, you are the first white men to break bread with me under this roof. We are quite a distance from the Pemberton trail, and therefore come in contact with but few travellers.”
Little wonder, Donald thought, at their host’s nervous gaiety and the child’s distress. What turn of Fate had caused this scholar to seek a home in so lonely a spot? Misanthropes fled to the wilderness to escape their fellow-men, but their welcome was proof that Wainwright was not of that class. Why, then, had he voluntarily become an anchorite? Was he obsessed by his hobby to such an extent that he had ostracized himself to carry on the study of Nature? Was he a criminal hiding from justice? Donald put the latter thought aside quickly. The Englishman’s delicate features, with wide forehead, clear eyes, and tender, sensitive mouth, were not the features of a man of criminal tendencies. At times, when in repose, Wainwright’s face held a deep and brooding sadness. Some tragedy had entered his life, Donald decided; some great calamity, that had seared his very soul, had driven him to the life of a recluse.
Connie strove to appear at ease, but without success. Hoping to relieve her embarrassment, Donald spoke to her. Although she ventured an upward glance, his voice seemed only to heighten her confusion.
Mr. Wainwright resumed the discussion of the wild flowers of British Columbia. With his head held sidewise, Andy listened intently to the flow of conversation. When their host used Latin words Andy’s face would assume a bewildered expression. With eyebrows raised inquiringly and a humorous smile playing about his lips, he would turn to Connie and slowly shake his head.
This odd little man, with his blithesome manner and the whimsical gleam in his blue eyes, was extremely amusing to Connie, and it was with difficulty that she controlled her mirth.
“I s’y,” observed Andy deferentially, “I’d like to learn about these flowers and things; but, strike me ’andsome, the big words you use, and some of them in the bohunk langwidge, puts more’n ’arf of it over me bloomin’ ’ead.”
Wainwright’s laugh had a pleasant ring. “I’ll do my best to help you, Mr. Pettray. You’ll find books here,” pointing to the shelves, “that will be of greater assistance.”
The keen mountain air made itself felt through the poorly chinked walls of the cabin, and the company moved their chairs nearer to the warmth of the crackling fire. Donald offered their host a cigar, which was accepted and smoked with evident relish.
“Start me at the beginnin’; put me in the kindergarten, where my size belongs,” chuckled Andy.
Wainwright leaned back in the rough chair, puffing luxuriously at his cigar, sending wreaths of fragrant smoke about his head. “I hardly know where to begin,” he said meditatively.