"Who wouldn't?" interposed Bowman impatiently. "In New York you can live. Here in St. Victor one can only vegetate."
"Don't you expect to go back to New York some day, Mr. Sinclair?" asked Fred.
"I don't know; I hope so."
"When our business in Canada is completed," said Bowman, "we shall probably both go back."
"Are you going to sleep here to-night, Bowman?" asked Sinclair.
"No, I think not. I have taken a room in the hotel."
"You must do as you like, of course, but it is lonely for me. Besides I might need assistance."
"Let the girl stay here, then. I should make a miserable sick nurse. I will ask young Fenton, here, if it is reasonable to expect me to bury myself in such a cheerless place when it will do no good."
Fred was disgusted with the man's selfishness. "If I had a friend sick," he said, "I think I would be quite willing to keep him company."
"You say so now, but wait till the time comes."