Her face kindled. Arthur Delaine, who thought that her remark was one of
the foolish exaggerations of nice women, was none the less conscious as
she made it, that her appearance was charming--all indeed that a man
could desire in a wife. Her simple dress of white linen, her black hat,
her lovely eyes, and little pointed chin, the bunch of white trilliums
at her belt, which a child in the emigrant car had gathered and given
her the day before--all her personal possessions and accessories seemed
to him perfection. Yes!--but he meant to go slowly, for both their
sakes. It seemed fitting and right, however, at this point that he
should express his great pleasure and gratitude in being allowed to join
them. Elizabeth replied simply, without any embarrassment that could be
seen. Yet secretly both were conscious that something was on its trial,
and that more was in front of them than a mere journey through the
Rockies. He was an old friend both of herself and her family. She
believed him to be honourable, upright, affectionate. He was of the same
world and tradition as herself, well endowed, a scholar and a gentleman.
He would make a good brother for Philip. And heretofore she had seen him
on ground which had shown him to advantage; either at home or abroad,
during a winter at Rome--a spring at Florence.

Indeed, as they strolled about Winnipeg, he talked to her incessantly
about persons and incidents connected with the spring of the year
before, when they had both been in Rome.

"You remember that delicious day at Castel Gandolfo?--on the terrace of
the Villa Barberini? And the expedition to Horace's farm? You recollect
the little girl there--the daughter of the Dutch Minister? She's married
an American--a very good fellow. They've bought an old villa on
Monte Mario."