Mrs. Acton was sitting on the veranda next morning when Nasmyth, fresh from a swim in the deep cold water of the inlet, came up across the clearing. It had brought a clear glow into his bronzed skin and a brightness to his eyes, and as he flung a word to a man who greeted him, his laugh had a clean, wholesome ring. He walked straight toward the veranda, and Mrs. Acton, sitting still, favoured him with a very keen and careful scrutiny. He was dressed in light flannels, which, she admitted, became him rather well; but it was the lithe gracefulness of his movements that she noticed most. His easy, half-whimsical manner had their effect on her; they won her favour. He was the kind of guest she had pleasure in welcoming at Bonavista.
He went up the veranda stairway, and, stopping near where she was sitting, looked down at her with a curious little glow in his eyes. She started, for she had not expected to see it there so soon.
“You seem unusually satisfied with everything this morning,” she observed. “There is probably some cause for it?”
Nasmyth laughed. “I believe I am. As I dare say you have noticed, tranquil contentment is one of my virtues. It is, however, one that is remarkably easy to exercise at Bonavista.”
“Still, contentment does not, as a rule, carry a young man very far in this country. In fact, it is now and then a little difficult to distinguish between it and something else that is less creditable to the man who possesses it.”
Nasmyth smiled good-humouredly. “Well,” he replied, “I have discovered that if you worry Fortune too much she resents it, and flies away from you. It seems to me there is something to be said for the quietly expectant attitude. After all, one is now and then given much more than one could by any effort possibly deserve.”
Mrs. Acton noticed the faint ring in his voice. “Ah,” she said, “then something of that kind has befallen you? Hadn’t you better come to the point?”
Nasmyth became grave. “Madam,” he said, “I have a confession to make. I am very much afraid I lost my head yesterday, and I should not be astonished if you were very angry with me.”
He spoke with a certain diffidence, and Mrs. Acton, who straightened herself in her chair, watched him steadily while he made his confession. He paused with a gesture of deprecation.