Stirling made a sign of comprehension.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve other business on hand, and I guess Ida is expecting you.”
Weston took the hint; and not long afterward Ida was smiling up at him with shining eyes. They had a good deal to tell each other, and some time had passed when Ida said:
“We’ll go back to the bush again as soon as the snow melts, if only for a week or two.” Then she flashed a quick glance at him. “That is, unless you are longing for a trip to England.”
A shadow crept into Weston’s face as he remembered the six hundred shares, but he smiled a moment later.
“No,” he said. “We’ll go over there together by and by—but not just now. We’ll camp beside the lake where I met you first, instead.”
After a while Ida lifted his right hand gently, and glanced down at the battered knuckles and broken nails.
“I’m glad it’s hard and strong—strong enough to keep me safe. And those scars will wear off, dear,” she said. “There are scars of another kind that don’t—but with those you and I have nothing to do.”
Then she looked up at him.
“Do you know what first made me think of you?”