"That's a comfort," George said shortly.
He left the granary in a thoughtful mood, and on the following evening drove over to the Grant homestead. Its owner was busy somewhere outside when he reached it, but Flora received him and he sat down with satisfaction to talk to her. It had become a pleasure to visit the Grants; he felt at home in their house. The absence of all ceremony, the simple Canadian life, had a growing attraction for him. One could get to know these people, which was a different thing from merely meeting them, and George thought this was to some extent the effect of their surroundings. He had always been conscious of a closer and more intimate contact with his friends upon the mountain-side or the banks of some salmon river than he had ever experienced in a club or drawing-room. For all that, Flora sometimes slightly puzzled him. She was free from the affectations and restraints of artificial conventionality, but there was a reserve about her which he failed to penetrate. He wondered what lay behind it and had a curious feeling that Edgar either guessed or knew.
"Did you enjoy your visit to Winnipeg?" she asked.
"It was a pleasant change and I got through my business satisfactorily.
Of course, I didn't go for amusement."
Flora laughed.
"So I supposed; you're growing more Canadian every day. But you meant to make a visit to England, which couldn't have had any connection with business, last winter, didn't you?"
George's face grew serious. He had, she thought, not got over his disappointment.
"Yes," he said. "But there was nothing to be done here then."
"So the things that should be done invariably come first with you?"
"In this case—I mean as far as they concern the farm—it's necessary."