The guests were received in the drawing-room of Enterprise House, which was rarely opened nowadays. It had a charming air of slightly old-fashioned gentility, just as its dead mistress had left it, and the rough Northerners came in with an abashed air. John Gaviller, resplendent in the dress-suit, stood by the piano, with the little lady on one hand and the large lady on the other, and one after another the men marched up and made their obeisances. The actual introduction proved to be not so terrible an ordeal as Stonor had feared—or perhaps it is more proper to say, that it was so terrible he was numbed and felt nothing. It was all over in a minute. “Miss Starling!” the name rang through his consciousness like the sound of silver bells.
Face to face Stonor saw her but dimly through the mist of too much feeling. She treated him exactly the same as the others, that is to say, she was kind, smiling, interested, and personally inscrutable. Stonor was glad that there was another man pressing close at his heels, for he felt that he could stand no more just then. He was passed on to Miss Pringle. Of this lady it need only be said that she was a large-size clergyman’s sister, a good soul, pious and kindly. She has little to do with this tale.
In Stonor’s eyes she proved to have a great merit, for she was disposed to talk exclusively about Miss Starling. Stonor’s ears were long for that. From her talk he gathered three main facts: (a) that Miss Starling’s given name was Clare (enchanting syllable!); (b) that the two ladies had become acquainted for the first time on the way into the country; (c) that Miss Starling was going back with the steamboat. “Of course!” thought Stonor, with his heart sinking slowly like a water-logged branch.
“Isn’t she plucky!” said Miss Pringle enthusiastically.
“She looks it,” said Stonor, with a sidelong glance at the object of her encomium.
“To make this trip, I mean, all by herself.”
“Is it just to see the country?” asked Stonor diffidently.
“Oh, don’t you know? She’s on the staff of the Winnipeg News-Herald, and is writing up the trip for her paper.”
Stonor instantly made up his mind to spend his next leave in Winnipeg. His relief was due in October.
John Gaviller could do things in good style when he was moved to it. The table was gay with silver under candle-light. Down the centre were placed great bowls of painter’s brush, the rose of the prairies. And with the smiling ladies to grace the head of the board, it was like a glimpse of a fairer world to the men of the North. Miss Pringle was on Gaviller’s right, Miss Starling on his left. Stonor was about half-way down the table, and fortunately on the side opposite the younger lady, where he could gaze his fill.