Her glance got wistful. She moved her plate and her hand trembled.
"You are English?" he resumed.
"I met you first on board a Canadian train and now you find me helping at a Montreal store. Isn't this enough? Why do you try to find out where I come from?"
"I'm sorry. All the same, you're not a Canadian."
"I am a Canadian now," she rejoined, and then added, as if she were resolved to talk about something else, "There's a mark on your forehead, like a deep cut. You hadn't got it when I saw you on the platform."
"No," said Lister. "I fell down some steps not long afterwards."
She looked at him sharply and then exclaimed: "Oh! the newspapers said there was a struggle on the train! Somebody helped the police and got hurt. It was you. Shillito knew you had meddled. You got the cut for me!"
"We agreed we wouldn't talk about Shillito. I got the cut because I didn't want to see a young police trooper knocked out. People who meddle do get hurt now and then. Anyhow, it's some time since and I think we'll let it go. Suppose you tell me about Montreal and your job at the store?"
She roused herself and began to talk. Lister thought it cost her something, but she sketched her working companions with skill and humor. She used their accent and their French-Canadian gestures. Lister laughed and led her on, although he got a hint of strain. The girl was not happy and he had noted her wistful look when she talked about England. At length she got up, and stopping at the door for a moment gave him her hand.
"Thank you. I wish you bon voyage," she said.