The good man little suspected when he wrote it what a quandary his kindly note would throw Garth into.
After supper, he and Natalie, sitting in the rigid little parlour upstairs, talked it over; while Mademoiselle Trudeau, aged fifteen, sought to entertain them by rendering effete popular songs on the famous piano. From below came the rise and fall of deep-voiced talk, and the incessant click of billiard balls.
Natalie made a picture of adorable perplexity to Garth's eyes as she said: "What would you advise me to do?"
"How can I advise you?" he said, looking away; "I do not know all the circumstances."
"But I can't tell you now," she said appealingly. "Don't you see, my reasons for going must not be allowed to influence our decision as to whether I can go?"
Garth did not exactly see this; but unwilling to beg for her confidence, he remained silent.
"My trouble is," she continued presently, "that if we follow the Bishop and overtake him, he'll virtually be obliged to take me; and I do not wish to force myself on him."
"As to that," Garth said, "one has to give and take in the North. It's not like it is outside. Besides, we pay our own score you know; and carry our own grub. I'll answer for the Bishop."