“Here by me, please, Mr. Carington. Anne, sit next to Mr. Carington. This seat, Mr. Ellett—on the left.”
The boys, a little subdued, contented themselves with quiet inspection of the new guests, and the talk slipped readily, in skilful hands, from the subjects of fish and the weather, and flies and rods, to other less trivial matters. Anne was unusually silent. She was studying the unconscious Carington, who soon noted the absence of Jack, and as quickly understood its meaning.
“Yes,” said Lyndsay, “these Gaspé[Gaspé] men are most interesting. They are clever, competent, and inherently kindly, really good fellows; but their trouble is, and it does not trouble them, that they have no persistent energy. I confess that, being myself, at least while here, without energy, I like its absence.”
“Isn’t it a vast relief, after the endless restlessness of our people,” said Anne, “to fall among folks who are contented, and home-loving, and so uncomplicated?”
“I certainly think so,” said Carington. “And what a surprise it is to meet the stray descendants of loyalists hereabouts and on the 'St. John’s’—I ought to say the ‘Aroostook,’ there are so many ‘St. John’s.’ Some of the best of the Canadians are descendants of those people; but, for the most part, those who settled in certain quarters of Lower Canada are down again to the level of mere laborers or fishermen.”
“And no better off,” said Ellett. “I mean no more energetic than—well, than I am. I hate the very word energy. I quite share your opinions, Miss Lyndsay. There is a nice little conundrum about that word—sounds better in French. But, pardon me, I never repeat conundrums, or make puns.”
“I am so sorry. Are you past persuasion?”
“Entirely.”
“Even as a personal confidence?”
“That is another matter. It will keep. I think, Mr. Lyndsay, you were about to say—”