from merely meeting them, and George thought this was to some extent the effect of their surroundings.  He had always been conscious of a closer and more intimate contact with his friends upon the mountain-side or the banks of some salmon river than he had ever experienced in a club or drawing-room.  For all that, Flora sometimes slightly puzzled him.  She was free from the affectations and restraints of artificial conventionality, but there was a reserve about her which he failed to penetrate.  He wondered what lay behind it and had a curious feeling that Edgar either guessed or knew.

“Did you enjoy your visit to Winnipeg?” she asked.

“It was a pleasant change and I got through my business satisfactorily.  Of course, I didn’t go for amusement.”

Flora laughed.

“So I supposed; you’re growing more Canadian every day.  But you meant to make a visit to England, which couldn’t have had any connection with business, last winter, didn’t you?”

George’s face grew serious.  He had, she thought, not got over his disappointment.

“Yes,” he said.  “But there was nothing to be done here then.”

“So the things that should be done invariably come first with you?”

“In this case—­I mean as far as they concern the farm—­it’s necessary.”

Flora considered his answer, studying him quietly, though she had some sewing in her hands.  Supposing, as she had once thought, there was some English girl he had longed to see, he could have made the journey later, when his crop had been sown, even though this entailed some neglect of minor operations that required his care.  He received, as she had learned with interest, few English letters, so there was nobody to whom he wrote regularly; and yet his disappointment when forced to abandon his visit had obviously been keen.  There was, Flora thought, a mystery here.

“After all,” she said, “the feeling you have indicated is pretty common in the Canadian wheat-belt.”

“Then why should you expect me to be an exception?  As a matter of fact, I’m at least as anxious as my neighbors to be successful.  That’s partly why I’ve come over to-night.”  His voice grew deeper and softer as he continued.  “I want to thank you and your father for your surprising generosity.”

“Surprising?” responded Flora lightly, though she was stirred by the signs of feeling he displayed.  “Do you know you’re not altogether complimentary?”

He smiled.

“You’ll forgive the slip; when one feels strongly, it’s difficult to choose one’s words.  Anyway, to get that seed, and so much of it, is an immense relief.  I’m deeply grateful; the more so because your action was so spontaneous.  I haven’t a shadow of a claim on you.”

Flora put down her sewing and looked at him directly.

“I don’t think you ought to say that—­do you wish to be considered a stranger?”

“No,” George declared impulsively.  “It’s the last thing I want.  Still, you see—­”