She could not speak to acknowledge her appreciation of his care for her. She pulled his arm about her and nestled in its hollow.
“There is no such amazing sight—no such picture of colour in the whole world as the Canadian backwoods in the Fall,” he continued. “It will amaze you. The sight of those leaves...”
Off he went, and for the rest of the evening they threw aside every consideration of the ostensible object of their trip to Canada and devoted themselves to their itinerary of the St. Lawrence, with excursions north and south, and a week at Niagara. Not another word did they say about the man or the woman, or the possible effect of producing the latter in the English courts to testify to the man’s perfidy. They were going on a holiday together, and that was enough for them. They exchanged plans until bed-time.
Even at breakfast the next morning Priscilla returned to the topic, asking him what clothes she should take with her on her journey, and he replied that she couldn’t do better than take the usual sort; an answer that sent her into a little fit of laughter which lasted until he had shaken his newspaper out of its folds and glanced at the first page. Then her laughter was stopped by his familiar exclamation:
“Great Gloriana! What’s this?”
“What’s what?” she asked.
He did not answer her.. His eyes were staring at the paper. He was reading something with an intensity that prevented his hearing her.
She waited patiently until he looked up in a puzzled way, and remarked once more:
“Great Gloriana!”
“What is it, Jack? What have you been reading there?” she said.