“He was born in Scotland, and the storekeeper stated he was sent out by an English orphanage; but they’re now Canadians. One observes that when an Old Country man has been a few years in Canada he is stanchly Canadian. I expect the fellows who don’t like you soon go back.”
“It’s possible,” said Austin and gave Miss Grey a smile. “You’re good mixers.”
Florence Grey looked up and her eyes sparkled.
“In England I was poor and nobody had much use for me. For long I went without proper food; I wore shabby clothes and lived at crowded lodgings. In Manitoba I got a fighting chance and fair pay for all I did. I’m happy at Fairmead and my friends are good. Canada’s my country; I’ve no use for the other.”
Austin was quiet and Kit said nothing. He thought Miss Grey challenged him, but he was not going to dispute. Although he thought poverty did not altogether account for her bitterness, her argument was logical.
“I rather think in Canada we use a standard model,” Mrs. Austin remarked. “We are a democracy, and a democracy works for a uniform type. Well, it has some advantages——”
“So long as the type’s a good type, ma’am,” said Kit.
Mrs. Austin smiled. “Your approval’s flattering, but I have known Englishmen who did not agree. Their model was not our model. There’s the drawback of standardizing.”
By and by she got up. Austin went with Kit and Alison to another room, put out some cigarettes, and vanished. A rattling noise indicated that Mrs. Austin carried off the plates, and Kit thought Bob and Miss Grey helped. All was strangely like the suppers at Blake’s flat, but Kit did not want to dwell on that. Alison occupied the little couch, and he would sooner talk.
“Perhaps the couch suggests it, but I see you on the bench at Winnipeg station,” he remarked.