“Hm! I wonder why Englishmen who think so darned much of their own old land bother to come to wild outlandish places like Canada.”
If she had expected him to deny that Canada was wild and outlandish she was to be disappointed, for he replied eagerly:
“Oh, by Jove! th-that’s wh-why we like it, you know. It’s—it’s exhilarating—the difference—the change from things over there. One gets in a rut in the old land and travel is our only antidote.”
Hilda had never travelled. She had never been outside the Province of Alberta. Calgary and Banff were the only cities Hilda had ever been in. She was conscious now of a sense of extreme bitterness and pain. Like some young wounded creature who strikes out blindly when hurt, Hilda said:
“Look here, Mr.——er——Whatever your name is, if you Englishmen just come out to Canada out of curiosity and to——”
“But, my dear child, Canada is part of us! We’re all one family. I’m at home here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a fish out of water.”
“I s-say——”
“And look here, I don’t let anyone call me ‘dear child.’ I won’t be patronized by you or anyone like you. I’m not a child anyway. I’m eighteen and that’s being of age, if you want to know.”
He could not restrain the smile that came despite himself at this childish statement. Hilda’s face darkened, and her eyelids were smarting with the angry tears that, much to her indignation, seemed to be trying to force their way through. She said roughly, in an effort to hide the impending storm: