Mrs. Acton gazed at him thoughtfully. “Your uncle is a man of means.”
“I believe he is. He may put three or four thousand dollars into the venture I mention, if he continues pleased with me. That is, I think, the most I could expect from him.”
Mrs. Acton sat silent a while, and, though Nasmyth was not aware of it, favoured him with one or two glances of careful scrutiny. He was, as she had naturally noticed, a well-favoured man, and the flannels and straw hat he wore were becoming to him. What was more to the purpose, there was a certain graceful easiness in his voice and manner which were not characteristic of most of her husband’s friends. Indeed, well-bred poise was not a characteristic of her own, though she recognized her lack. The polish that she coveted suggested an acquaintance with a world that she had not as yet succeeded in persuading her husband to enter. Acton was, from her point of view, regrettably contented with his commercial status in the new and crudely vigorous West.
“Well,” she remarked thoughtfully, “none of us knows what there is in the future, and there are signs that you have intelligence and grit in you.” Then she dismissed the subject. “I think you might take me for a row,” she said.
Nasmyth pulled the dinghy alongside, and rowed her up and down the bay, but his intelligence was, after all, not 166 sufficient for him to recognize the cleverness with which she led him on to talk about his uncle and England. He was not aware that he had been particularly communicative, but when he rowed back to the yacht Mrs. Acton was in possession of a great deal of information that was more or less satisfying.
The Tillicum steamed away again when the remainder of the party arrived, and she was leisurely swinging over a little froth-flecked sea that night, with the spray flying at her bows, when Acton came upon Nasmyth leaning on the rail.
“I wasn’t quite certain what view Mrs. Acton might take of Martial’s disappearance,” said Acton. “Just now, however, I think that she is rather pleased with you.”
“The fact,” replied Nasmyth, “is naturally a cause for satisfaction.”
Acton appeared amused. “Well,” he said, “to some extent it depends upon what views she has for you. Mrs. Acton is a capable woman.”
Acton strolled forward, leaving Nasmyth thoughtful. The hint was reasonably plain, but the younger man was not quite sure that he would be willing to fall in with the strong-willed woman’s views. There was no doubt that Violet Hamilton attracted him––he admitted that without hesitation––for she had grace and wit and beauty, but she had, also, large possessions, which might prove a serious obstacle. Besides, he was sensible of a tenderness for the woman who had given him shelter and a great deal more than that in the lonely Bush. Laura, however, was still in the wilderness, and Miss Hamilton, whose society he found very pleasant, was then on board the Tillicum, facts that had their significance in the case of a man liable to be swayed by the impulses of the moment. By-and-by, he started, for while he thought about her, Miss Hamilton came out of the little companion-way, and stood looking round her, with her long light dress rustling 167 in the breeze, until she moved forward as her eyes rested on him.