Weston laughed.
“Didn’t you find those sleigh-rides, skating-rinks, and even the trips west in your father’s private car, grow exceedingly tame?”
“Ah,” said Ida, “you must remember that I have never known anything else.”
“Then you have only to wait a little. It’s quite certain that you won’t be able to say that some day.”
It seemed to Ida inadvisable to pursue the subject further, though she was not sure that he wished to do so.
“How did you expend your energy after you left the track?” she asked.
“I don’t quite remember. Drove horses, went about with a thrashing outfit, hewed logs for bridges—but haven’t I talked too long about myself? You have told me nothing of—Montreal.”
Ida risked a chance shot.
“Don’t you know that kind of life? It must be very much the same as the one your people lead in England. It doesn’t count that their amusements are slightly different.”
Weston foiled her again.