“Come in close to the fire. You must be cold,” suggested the girl kindly, noting the pinched brown features. “Then I will talk to you.”
A leer of thanks and gratitude spread over the ugly, wrinkled face, and the creature acted on the suggestion.
“Can't you wait to see my father until later? asked Jean.
“No, I go with my son to the hunting-grounds this afternoon,” the woman answered.
“Well, if you will tell your message to me, I will see that he gets it.”
The squaw made no reply, but searched Jean's face with her bright little eyes. Then, she said suddenly:
“So, you're the one he is in love with?” The girl, taken aback, bristled at the words and tone.
“To whom do you refer?” she asked.
“Captain McTavish. Ha, you start and blush! Then, there are two sides of the matter. It's a pity! It's a pity!”
Jean, now thoroughly angered, both by the woman's temerity and her own involuntary coloring at the mention of Donald McTavish's name, turned on her visitor sharply.