“I’ve sent him a telegram.”

“But I can’t pack.”

“Selina can.”

“Impossible in such a little time.”

“Then I’ll do it,” said Craig jovially.  “I can pack a trunk twice as quick as any man you ever saw.  I pack with my feet as well as with my hands.”

“It’s impossible,” repeated she angrily.  “I detest being hurried.”

“Hurried?  Why, you’ve got nine hours to get used to the idea.  Nine hours’ warning for anything isn’t haste.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?” demanded she, coming to a full stop and expecting thus to compel him to face her.  But he marched on.

“It has been my lifelong habit,” declared he over his shoulder, “to arrange everything before disclosing my plans.  You’ll find, as we get on, that it will save you a lot of fretting and debating.”

Reluctantly and with the humiliating sense of helpless second fiddle she followed him along the rough path.  “I loathe surprises,” she said.

“Then adjust your mind to not being surprised at anything from me.”

He laughed noisily at his own humor.  She was almost hating him again.  He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; for as she shot a fiery glance at him he whirled round, shook his forefinger maddeningly at her:  “Now listen to me, my dear,” said he, in his very worst manner, most aggressive, most dictatorial; “if you had wanted an ordinary sort of man you should have married one and not me.”

“Don’t you think common courtesy required you at least to consult me about such a matter?”

“I do not.  If I had I should have done so.  I found it was necessary that we go.  I went ahead and arranged it.  If you saw the house on fire would you wait till you had consulted me before putting it out?”

“But this is entirely different.”

“Not at all.  Entirely the same, on the contrary.  The talk we had day before yesterday convinced me that our house is afire.  I’m going to put it out.”  He shut his teeth together with a snap, compressed his lips, gave her one of those quick, positive nods of his Viking head.  Then he caught her by the arm.  “Now,” said he jocosely, “let’s go back to camp.  You want to do your packing.  I’ve got to go over to the station and telegraph some more.”

She wrenched her arm away pettishly and, with sullen face, accompanied him to the camp.  It was all she could do to hide her anger when, in full sight of the guides, he swept her up into his arms and kissed her several times.  Possibly she would have been really angered, deeply angered, had she realized that these cyclones were due, as a rule, not so much to appreciation of her as to the necessity of a strong counter-irritant to a sudden attack of awe of her as a fine lady and doubt of his own ability to cope with her.  “Good-by, Rita,” cried he, releasing her as suddenly as he had seized her and rushing toward the landing.  “If I don’t get back till the last minute be sure you’re ready.  Anything that isn’t ready will be left behind—­anything or anybody!”