Devine rose and followed her out of the room, and in another half-hour the ranch was in darkness. He rode away early next morning, and the big, empty living-room seemed lonely to the two women who sat by the window when night drew in again. The evening was very still and clear, and the chill of the snow was in the motionless air. No sound but the distant roar of the river broke the silence, and when the white line of snow grew dimmer high up in the dusky blue, and the pines across the clearing faded to a blur of shadow, Mrs. Devine shivered a little.
"I suppose quietness is good for one, if only because it isn't very nice, but it gets a trifle depressing now and then," she said. "Why didn't you ask Mr. Brooke to come across?"
"You may have noticed that he never comes when my brother-in-law is not here, and then he brings drawings or estimates of some kind with him."
Mrs. Devine appeared reflective. "Grant has not been away for almost two weeks now, and it is quite that time since we have seen Mr. Brooke," she said. "Didn't we ask him to come when you had Minnie here?"
"You did," said Barbara, with a faint flush, which the shadows hid. "He asked me to excuse him."
"Because Grant was away?"
"No," said Barbara, drily. "That, at least, was not the reason he gave me. He said he was—too tired."
Mrs. Devine laughed, for she had noticed the hardness in her sister's voice.
"It really must have been exasperating. He should have thought of a better excuse," she said. "You have only to hold up a finger at Vancouver, and they all flock round, eager to do a good deal more than you wish them to, while this flume-builder doesn't seem to understand what is implied by a royal invitation. No doubt you will find a way of making him realize his contumacy."
"I am almost afraid I shall not have the opportunity."