"Really? And do you bring Mrs. Fairfax?"
"No," frowned the young man, "and I wonder you ask. Don't you understand that this is my holiday? God knows I earn it."
Rainsford finished his soup. The plate was whisked away, was briskly replaced by a quantity of small dishes containing everything on the bill of fare from chicken to pot-pie, and as Rainsford meditated upon the outlay, he said—
"She's a gentle, lovely creature, Fairfax. I don't wonder you were charmed by her. She has a heart and a soul."
Fairfax stared. "Why when did you see her?"
He had never referred to his wife since the day he had announced his marriage to his chief.
"She came on the day of the blizzard to the office to bring a parcel for you. She wanted me to send it up the line by the Limited to catch you at Utica."
"My knit waistcoat," nodded Fairfax. "I remember. It saved my getting a chill. I had clean forgotten it. She's a good girl."
Rainsford chose amongst the specimens of food.
"She is a sweet woman."