Later, Loseis and Conacher were sitting at the door of the Women’s House, while the appetizing odors came stealing out. A heavy constraint was upon them; they could not meet each other’s eyes. The man, looking down, marveled at the delicacy of Loseis’ shapely hands, lying loosely in her lap. What a rare, fine creature to find in these rude surroundings! Her beauty and her proud manner intimidated him. Who was he to aspire so high? The girl wondered sadly why the man did not speak. He had only to speak!
When he did speak it was not in the tone that she longed to hear. “What are you going to do?” he asked, matter-of-fact.
To Loseis the solution was simplicity itself. Conacher was to stay there, and everything go on as before. But it was not seemly for her to propose this. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said.
“But you must have thought something about what you would do,” he said surprised. “You can’t stay here.”
Loseis’ heart sunk. She said nothing.
“Fort Good Hope cannot be but a hundred miles or so across the height of land,” he went on.
“A hundred and fifty,” said Loseis.
“I have heard there’s a white woman at Fort Good Hope,” said Conacher. “She’s the parson’s sister.”
“What do I want with the parson’s sister?” demanded Loseis with a spice of resentment.
Conacher looked at her helplessly.