Elizabeth wore a dress of white linen, and a broad hat of soft blue.  The combination of the white and blue with her brown hair, and the pale refinement of her face, seemed to him ravishing, enchanting.  So were the movements of her hands at work, and all the devices of her light self-command; more attractive, infinitely, to his mature sense than the involuntary tremor of girlhood.

“Hallo!  What does Stewart want?” said Philip, raising himself in his hammock.  The hunter who had been the companion of his first unlucky attempt at fishing was coming towards them.  The boy sprang to the ground, and, vowing that he would fish the following morning whatever Elizabeth might say, went off to consult.

She looked after him with a smile and a sigh.

“Better give him his head!” laughed Anderson.  Then, from where he stood, he studied her a moment, unseen, except by Delaine, who was sitting among the moss a few yards away, and had temporarily forgotten the Cippus of Palestrina.

Suddenly the Canadian came forward.

“Have you explored that path yet, over the shoulder?” he said to Lady Merton, pointing to the fine promontory of purple piny rock which jutted out in front of the glacier on the southern side of the lake.

She shook her head; but was it not still too early and too hot to walk?  Anderson persisted.  The path was in shade, and would repay climbing.  She hesitated—­and yielded; making a show of asking Delaine to come with them.  Delaine also hesitated, and refrained; making a show of preferring the “Archaeological Review.”  He was left to watch them mount the first stretches of the trail; while Philip strolled along the lake with his companion in the slouch hat and leggings, deep in tales of bass and trout.

Elizabeth and Anderson climbed a long sloping ascent through the pines.  The air was warm and scented; the heat of the sun on the moistened earth was releasing all its virtues and fragrances, overpowering in the open places, and stealing even through the shadows.  When the trees broke or receded, the full splendour of the glacier was upon them to their left; and then for a space they must divine it as a presence behind the actual, faintly gleaming and flashing through the serried ranks of the forest.  There were heaths and mosses under the pines; but otherwise for a while the path was flowerless; and Elizabeth discontentedly remarked it.  Anderson smiled.

“Wait a little—­or you’ll have to apologise to the Rockies.”

He looked down upon her, and saw that her small face had bloomed into a vivacity and charm that startled him.  Was it only the physical effort and pleasure of the climb?  As for himself, it took all the power of a strong will to check the happy tumult in his heart.

Elizabeth asked him of his Saskatchewan journey.  He described to her the growing town he hoped to represent—­the rush of its new life.