"But, do you want to? Do you really want to?" she asked. "I wish I knew.
I hate not to understand people. You are hard to know. I don't know you.
But you will come?"

"I think so," said the young man. "Of course a fellow's work comes
first, you know."

"Work?" she cried. "Your work? Oh, your missionary work. Oh, yes, yes. I
should like to see you at it. Come, let us go."

Mr. Cornwall Brand they found in a fever of impatience. He had the
trip scheduled to a time table, and he hated to be forced to change his
plans. His impatience showed itself in snappy commands and inquiries to
his Indian guides, who, however, merely grunted replies. They knew their
job and did it without command or advice, and with complete indifference
to anything the white man might have to say. To Paula the only change in
his manner was an excess of politeness.

Her father, however, met her with remonstrances.

"Why, Paula, my dear, you have kept us waiting."

"What's the rush, pater?" she enquired, coolly.

"Why, my dear, we are already behind our schedule, and you know Cornwall
hates that," he said in a low voice.

"Cornwall!" said Paula, in a loud voice of unmistakable ill temper.
"Does Cornwall run this outfit?"