“That couldn’t happen,” he declared gravely.  “Somehow you make one feel there is much in you that wants discovery, but that one will learn it by and by.  After all, it’s only the shallow people you never really get to know.”

“It would seem an easy task, on the face of it.”

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t.  They have a way of enveloping themselves in an air of importance and mystery, and when they don’t do so, they’re casual and inconsequent.  One likes people with, so to speak, some continuity of character.  By degrees one gets to know how they’ll act and it gives one a sense of reliance.”  He paused and added, diffidently:  “Anything you did would be wise and generous.”

“By degrees?” smiled Flora.  “So it’s slowly, by patient sapping, the barriers go down!  One could imagine that such things might be violently stormed.  But you’re not rash, are you, or often in a hurry?  However, it’s time I was getting home.”

She waved her hand and rode away, and George, getting into the saddle, started his team, and thought about her while he listened to the crackling of the stubble going down beneath the hoofs, and the soft thud of thrown-back soil as the lengthening rows of clods broke away from the gleaming shares.  What she might have meant by her last remark he could not tell, though so far as it concerned him, he was ready to admit that he was addicted to steady plodding.  Then his thoughts took a wider range, and he began to make comparisons.  Flora was not characterized by Sylvia’s fastidious refinement; she was more virile and yet more reposeful.  Sylvia’s activities spread bustle around her; she required much assistance and everybody in her neighborhood was usually impressed into her service, though their combined efforts often led to nothing.  Flora’s work was done silently; the results were most apparent.

Still, the charm Sylvia exerted was always obvious; a thing to rejoice in and be thankful for.  Flora had not the same effect on one, though he suspected there was a depth of tenderness in her, behind the barrier.  It struck him as a pity that she showed no signs of interest in West, who of late seemed to have been attracted by the pretty daughter of a storekeeper at the settlement; but, after all, the lad was hardly old or serious enough for Flora.  There was, however, nobody else in the district who was nearly good enough for her; and George felt glad that she was reserved and critical.  It would be disagreeable to contemplate her yielding to any suitor unless he were a man of exceptional merit.