This time, Weldon laughed outright. Trained in the wider, more open-
air school of Canadian life, he found her insular point of view
distinctly comic.

"I have a portable tub somewhere among my luggage," he reassured
her.

She shook her head.

"No; that's not what I mean. But you won't be thrown with men of
your own class. The private is a distinct race; you'll find him
unbearable, when you are really in close quarters with him."

Deliberately Weldon rose and stood looking down at her. His lips
were smiling; his eyes were direct and grave. His mother could have
told the girl, just then, that some one had touched him on the raw.

"Miss Dent," he asked slowly; "is this the way you cheer on the
men?"

She flushed under his rebuke and, for a moment, her blue eyes showed
an angry light.

"I beg your pardon. I was referring to the men whom I am likely to
know."

"And omitting myself?" he inquired.

"You are the exception which proves the rule," she answered a little