“Aynsley was talking to me a few days ago,” she said. “I understand that he means to take charge of the Canadian mill.”
“Then I suppose you applauded his decision. In fact, I wonder whether he arrived at it quite unassisted? The last time Clay mentioned the matter he told me the young fool didn’t seem able to make up his mind.”
Ruth grew somewhat uneasy beneath his amused glance. Her father was shrewd, and she was not prepared to acknowledge that she had influenced Aynsley.
“But don’t you think Aynsley’s right?” she asked.
“Oh, yes; in a sense. We admire industrial enterprise, and on the whole that’s good; but I’ve sometimes thought that our bush ranchers and prospectors, who, while assisting in it, keep a little in advance of civilized progress, show sound judgment. It’s no doubt proper to turn the beauty of our country into money and deface it with mining dumps and factory stacks; but our commercial system’s responsible for a good deal of ugliness, moral and physical.”
The girl was accustomed to his light irony, and was sometimes puzzled to determine how far he was serious.
“But you are a business man,” she said.
“That’s true. I’ve suffered for it; but it doesn’t follow that our methods are much better because I’ve practised them.”
“Where did you first meet Aynsley’s father?” Ruth asked. She preferred personal to abstract topics.
Osborne smiled reminiscently.