wife--up to the door in a dogcart; their clothes in a saddle-bag, or
something less reputable, to stay a month. Duke, you have lost your
decorum; you are a gipsy."

"I fear Shon McGann and Pierre wouldn't enjoy being with us as I should
enjoy having them. You can never understand what a life that is out in
Pierre's country. If it weren't for you and the bairn, I should be off
there now. There is something of primeval man in me. I am never so
healthy and happy, when away from you, as in prowling round the outposts
of civilisation, and living on beans and bear's meat."

He stretched to his feet, and his wife rose with him. There was a fine
colour on his cheek, and his eye had a pleasant fiery energy. His wife
tapped him on the arm with her fan. She understood him very well, though
pretending otherwise. "Duke, you are incorrigible. I am in daily dread of
your starting off in the middle of the night, leaving me--"

"Watering your couch with your tears?"

"--and hearing nothing more from you till a cable from Quebec or Winnipeg
tells me that you are on your way to the Arctic Circle with Pierre or
some other heathen. But, seriously, where did you meet Mr.
Vandewaters--Heavens, what a name!--and that other person? And what is
the other person's name?"

"The other person carries the contradictory name of Stephen Pride."

"Why does he continually finger his face, and show his emotions so? He
assents to everything said to him by an appreciative exercise of his
features."