"I suppose so," said he.
"But the idea of expecting you to build all those miles of ditch in ninety days and in the winter time! I wonder that you can be so calm."
"Why shouldn't I be calm? My mind's made up. I'm going to complete the project on time."
The words were uttered in a matter-of-fact tone that impressed Louise Graham far more than would any vehement assertion. As he had stated, his mind was made up, quite made up on the point. Others might think what they pleased: it carried no weight with him. The thing was certain.
She examined the engineer with a new interest. There was a difference in him, what would be hard to say. One couldn't exactly put finger on it. Something in his gray eyes, perhaps; something in the sharper stamp of his aquiline nose, of his lips, of his bronzed jaw; something in his whole bearing. It went deeper than features, too; she sensed a change in the spirit of the man from what it had been that day of his going down to Kennard, when he strolled with her in her garden. He was less bouyant, less manifest, less elated, but more poised and sure. A change, yes.
Then her thoughts reverted to his tremendous undertaking.
"How long have you known this?" she inquired.
"Since the day before yesterday. Pat Carrigan, my contractor, and I came to the capital at once to discuss the affair with the Board. The news was—well, a good deal of a facer."
She nodded.
"It would be," were her words. "You'll need more workmen and horses, of course."