"No; we three alone."
She felt vaguely puzzled; but before she could turn to another subject, he had added--
"There was nothing else for us to do. We had no money and no relations--nothing but the land. So we had to work it--and we managed. But after three years we'd saved a little money, and we wanted to get a bit more education. So we sold the land and moved up to Montreal."
"How old were the brothers when you took on the farm?"
"Thirteen--and fifteen."
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You must be proud."
He laughed out.
"Why, that kind of thing's done every day in this country! You can't idle in Canada."
They had turned back towards the train. In the doorway of the car sat Philip Gaddesden lounging and smoking, enveloped in a fur coat, his knees covered with a magnificent fur rug. A whisky and soda had just been placed at his right hand. Elizabeth thought--"He said that because he had seen Philip." But when she looked at him, she withdrew her supposition. His eyes were not on the car, and he was evidently thinking of something else.
"I hope your brother will take no harm," he said to her, as they approached the car. "Can I be of any service to you in Winnipeg?"