It was the invitation she would have angled for, but she was too wise to assent too readily.
“Oh, no; I think we mustn't. I'm afraid Mr. Winton might not like it.”
“Not like it? If you'll come he'll never forgive himself for not being here to 'shoot up' the camp for you in person. He is away, you know; gone to Carbonate for the day.”
“Ought we to go, Cousin Billy?” she asked, shifting, not the decision, but the responsibility for it, to broader shoulders.
“Why not, if you care to?” said the athlete, to whom right-of-way fights were mere matters of business in no wise conflicting with the social ameliorations.
Virginia hesitated. There was a thing to be said to Mr. Adams, and that without delay; but how could she say it with her cousin standing by to make an impossible trio out of any attempted duet confidential? A willingness to see that Winton had fair play need not carry with it an open desertion to the enemy. She must not forget to be loyal to her salt; and, besides, Mr. Somerville Darrah's righteous indignation was a possibility not lightly to be ignored.
But, the upshot of the hesitant pause was a decision to brave the consequences—all of them; so she took Calvert's arm for the slippery crossing of the ice-bridge.
Once on his own domain, Adams did the honors of the camp as thoroughly and conscientiously as if the hour held no care heavier than the entertainment of Miss Virginia Carteret. He explained the system under which the material was kept moving forward to the ever-advancing front; let her watch the rhythmic swing and slide of the rails from the car to the benches; took her up into the cab of the big “octopod” locomotive; gave her a chance to peep into the camp kitchen car; and concluded by handing her up the steps of the “dinkey.”
“Oh, how comfortable!” she exclaimed, when he had shown her all the space-saving contrivances of the field office. “And this is where you and Mr. Winton work?”
“It is where we eat and sleep,” corrected Adams. “And speaking of eating: it is hopelessly the wrong end of the day,—or it would be in Boston,—but our Chinaman won't know the difference. Let me have him make you a dish of tea,”—and the order was given before she could protest.