The girl laughed, perhaps because she realized that the memory of the last few weeks would remain with her. She also remembered that he had said that the stillness among the white peaks and in the scented bush was filled with a glamour that seized on one.
“Well,” she confessed, “I may come back with other friends some day; and in that case we shall certainly ask for you as guide. I want to say, as Major Kinnaird did, that we owe a good deal to you. I am only sorry that the trip is over.”
Then her tone changed a little, and Weston supposed that she was unwilling to make too great an admission.
“There are so many little discomforts you have saved us.”
“Yes,” he agreed, a trifle dryly, “I suppose there are. However, I shall probably have gone away when you come back again.”
He broke off for a moment, and then turned toward her quietly.
“Still,” he said, “I seem to feel that I shall see you again some day.”
His voice was perfectly steady, but, though the light was fading fast, Ida saw the glint in his eyes, and she answered conventionally.
“Of course,” she said, “that would be a pleasure.”
Then she spoiled it by a laugh when she saw the smile creep into her companion’s eyes; for it was clear to both of them that the formal expression was in their case somewhat out of place. They realized that there was more that might have been said; and it was a slight relief when the shriek of a whistle came ringing down the track and a roar of wheels grew louder among the shadowy pines. Then the great mountain locomotive and the dusty cars came clanking into the station, stopped a few moments, and rolled away again; and Weston was left with the vision of a white-robed figure in a fluttering dress that leaned out from a car platform looking back at the gleaming snow and then turned a moment to wave a hand to him.