Ida abandoned the attempt to move him. She had yielded to a momentary impulse, but she was too proud to persist.
“Well,” she said, “that peak certainly was rather wonderful. You remember it?”
“Yes,” said Weston with injudicious emphasis; “I remember everything about that camp. I can see the big black firs towering above the still water—and you were sitting where the light came slanting in between them. You wore that gray fishing suit with the belt round it, and you had your hat off. The light made little gold gleams in your hair that matched the warm red glow on the redwood behind you—and you had burst the strap of one little shoe.”
“Haven’t you overlooked Arabella?” suggested Ida, who realized that his memory was significantly clear.
“Miss Kinnaird?” said Weston. “Of course, she was with you—but it’s rather curious that she’s quite shadowy. I don’t quite seem to fix her, though I have a notion that she didn’t fit in. She was out of key.”
“That,” laughed Ida, “was probably the result of wearing a smart English skirt. Do you remember the day you fell down and broke her parasol, and what you said immediately afterward about women’s fripperies?”
“I didn’t know that I had an audience,” explained Weston, with his eyes twinkling. “I certainly remember that when you fancied that I had hurt myself you would have carried half the things over the portage if I had let you. We went fishing that evening. There was one big trout that broke you in the pool beneath the rapid. The scent of the firs was wonderful.”
She led him on with a few judicious questions and suggestions, and for half an hour they talked of thundering rivers, still lakes and shadowy bush. He remembered everything, and, without intending to do so, he made it clear that in every vivid memory she was the prominent figure. It was here she had hooked a big trout, and there she had, under his directions, run a canoe down an easy rapid. She had enjoyed all that the great cities had to offer, but as she listened to him she sighed for the silence of the pine-scented bush.
At last he rose with a deprecatory smile.
“I’m afraid I’ve rather abused your patience,” he said; “and I have to call on Wannop about the mine.”