For all that, he felt a keen thrill of pleasure when Beatrice, with Mrs. Broadwood, came toward him when he stopped his team on the edge of the hollow. The sides of the ravine were clothed with leafless poplars, and the snow shone a soft gray-blue in their shadow. In places, the slope was very steep, and the trail, with several awkward bends, ran down diagonally to the bridge at the bottom, shut in by rows of slender trunks except where the ground fell away on its outer edge. A thin cloud of steam hung over the jaded horses. Except for the sparkle in his eyes, Harding had a very tired look when Beatrice stopped beside him.
"It will not be easy getting down," she said.
Harding smiled.
"I suppose I deserve some trouble?"
"I really think you do," Beatrice answered with a laugh. "I would have stopped you if I could; but now the plow's here, it's too late to be disagreeable about it—so I don't wish you any difficulty in getting down!"
"It's a sensible attitude. Fight against a thing you don't like, but make the best of it when it's an accomplished fact."
"I don't like steam-plows at Allenwood," said Beatrice with a flush of color.
"Allenwood is hifalutin," Mrs. Broadwood put in. "They're trying to run it on ideals."
"Is it necessary to separate ideals from practical efficiency?" Harding asked.
"They don't often go together," Beatrice answered scornfully.