The breeze took us where it willed. The mother-of-pearl shimmer of evening was turning the headlands to mist, and the air smelled of cedar and pine. Tiny waves lapped complainingly on the sides of our rocking canoe. I leaned forward.
"Listen, madame, you know life. You know how little is often given under the bond of marriage. You know how men and women live long lives together though completely sundered in heart, and how others though separated in life walk side by side in the spirit. As this is so, why do you fear to see or know too much of me? Propinquity does not create love."
Still she looked down. "Men say that it does, monsieur."
"Then why are so many marriages unhappy? No, madame, you know better than that. And you know that if love should grow between us it would sweep away your toy barriers like paper. Nearness or absence would not affect it. Madame, let me have your hand."
"No, no! Monsieur, I do not know you."
"You shall know me better. Come, what is a hand? There. Madame, would you prefer, from now on, to travel in hardship with me rather than be left in comfort here?"
"I should indeed, monsieur."
"Then you shall go with me."
"But your work, monsieur!"
I released her hand and picked up my paddle. "I see that Indian tribes are not my only concern," I explained. "I have other matters to conquer. We shall not be separated from now on."