That was how she put it—­how she must put it, of course.  He perfectly understood her.

And now here he was, sitting in the C.P.R.  Hotel at Winnipeg, at a time of year when he was generally in Paris or Rome, investigating the latest Greek acquisitions of the Louvre, or the last excavation in the Forum; picnicking in the Campagna; making expeditions to Assisi or Subiaco; and in the evenings frequenting the drawing-rooms of ministers and ambassadors.

He looked up presently from the Times, and at the street outside; the new and raw street, with its large commercial buildings of the American type, its tramcars and crowded sidewalks.  The muddy roadway, the gaps and irregularities in the street facade, the windows of a great store opposite, displeased his eye.  The whole scene seemed to him to have no atmosphere.  As far as he was concerned, it said nothing, it touched nothing.

What was it he was to be taken to see?  Emigration offices?  He resigned himself, with a smile.  The prospect made him all the more pleasantly conscious that one feeling, and one feeling only, could possibly have brought him here.

“Ah! there you are.”

A light figure hurried toward him, and he rose in haste.

But Lady Merton was intercepted midway by a tall man, quite unknown to Delaine.

“I have arranged everything for three o’clock,” said the interloper.  “You are sure that will suit you?”

“Perfectly!  And the guests?”

“Half a dozen, about, are coming.”  George Anderson ran through the list, and Elizabeth laughed merrily, while extending her hand to Delaine.

“How amusing!  A party—­and I don’t know a soul in Winnipeg.  Arrived this morning—­and going this evening!  So glad to see you, Mr. Arthur.  You are coming, of course?”

“Where?” said Delaine, bewildered.

“To my tea, this afternoon.  Mr. Anderson—­Mr. Delaine.  Mr. Anderson has most kindly arranged a perfectly delightful party!—­in our car this afternoon.  We are to go and see a great farm belonging to some friend of his, about twenty miles out—­prize cattle and horses—­that kind of thing.  Isn’t it good of him?”

“Charming!” murmured Delaine.  “Charming!” His gaze ran over the figure of the Canadian.

“Yerkes of course will give us tea,” said Elizabeth.  “His cakes are a strong point”; she turned to Anderson.  “And we may really have an engine?”

“Certainly.  We shall run you out in forty minutes.  You still wish to go on to-night?”

“Philip does.  Can we?”

“You can do anything you wish,” said Anderson, smiling.

Elizabeth thanked him, and they chatted a little more about the arrangements and guests for the afternoon, while Delaine listened.  Who on earth was this new acquaintance of Lady Merton’s?  Some person she had met in the train apparently, and connected with the C.P.R.  A good-looking fellow, a little too sure of himself; but that of course was the Colonial fault.