This evening she had been thinking over these things after choir-practice. Lately she had found time pass very slowly. Her father and brother had come home early in the evening, but went off directly after supper to skin the seals, and she would see no more of them that night. In all probability in a few days they would go on another expedition.
A quick footstep crunching the sand and a voice saying, "Good evening, Marie," made the girl turn round to see Noël McAllister standing beside her.
She sprang to her feet and exclaimed, with a certain glad ring in her voice:
"Oh! Noël, is that you? I am so pleased you are back."
"Yes, Marie, it is I, not my ghost, though you look as if you had seen one. And are you pleased to see me?"
"Of course I am. I think you need scarcely ask that question."
"And what have you been doing, my dear one, since I have been away?"
"Oh! Noël, the time has seemed so long, so wearisome. There has been no one here to speak to, except for a week or two when Eugène Lacroix came home for his holidays. I used to watch him paint, and he talked to me about his work at Laval."
"Marie, I don't like Eugène Lacroix. He is stupid, conceited, impractical."
"Indeed, I think you are mistaken. M. Bois-le-Duc calls him a genius. Eugène, too, is a most interesting companion, and he has told me many tales of countries far beyond here."