"The one serves, the other spoils," said Elizabeth eagerly.
"Serves whom? Spoils what?" The voice was cold. "All travellers are not like yourself."
"I am not afraid. The Canadians will guard their heritage."
"How dull England will seem to you when you go back to it!" he said to her, after a moment. His tone had an under-note of bitterness which Elizabeth uncomfortably recognised.
"Oh! I have a way of liking what I must like," she said, hurriedly. "Just now, certainly, I am in love with deserts--flat or mountainous--tempered by a private car."
He laughed perfunctorily. And suddenly it seemed to her that he had come out to seek her with a purpose, and that a critical moment might be approaching. Her cheeks flushed, and to hide them she leant over the water's edge and began to trail her finger in its clear wave.
He, however, sat in hesitation, looking at her, the prey of thoughts to which she had no clue. He could not make up his mind, though he had just spent an almost sleepless night on the attempt to do it.
The silence became embarrassing. Then, if he still groped, she seemed to see her way, and took it.
"It was very good of you to come out and join our wanderings," she said suddenly. Her voice was clear and kind. He started.
"You know I could ask for nothing better," was his slow reply, not without dignity. "It has been an immense privilege to see you like this, day by day."