“Then,” said Jessie, with reproach in her voice, “you have disappointed me.”
It was skilful flattery, since she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities.
“After all, you must have had a good deal against you,” she resumed consolingly. “Won’t you sit down and tell me about it? Nairn, I understand, is writing some letters, and he sent for Mrs. Nairn just before you came in.”
She indicated a chair beside the open hearth and Vane sat down opposite her, where a low screen cut them off from the rest of the room. Vane, who was still stiff and aching from exposure to the cold and rain, revelled in the unusual sense of comfort. In addition to this, his companion’s pose was singularly graceful, and the ease of it and the friendly smile with which she regarded him somehow implied that they were on excellent terms.
“It’s very nice to be here again,” he said.
Jessie looked up at him languidly. He had spoken as he felt, on impulse, which was more gratifying than an obvious desire to pay her a compliment would have been.
“I suppose you wouldn’t get many comforts in the bush,” she suggested.
“No,” said Vane. “Comforts of any kind are remarkably scarce up yonder. As a matter of fact, I can’t imagine a country where the contrasts between the luxuries of civilisation and the other thing are sharper. But that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I don’t know that it’s worth explaining,” Vane answered with an air of consideration. “We have rather luxurious quarters at the hotel, but this room is somehow different. It’s restful—I think it’s homely—in-fact, as I said, it’s nice to be here.”