e showed a
voracity that offended her fastidious taste. He was worn out and
anxious, and since all his thoughts were fixed upon the business that
he had in hand, he could not rouse himself to act according to the
manner expected of a lover who returns after a long absence. It was,
however, once more borne in upon him that this was significant.

Violet, on her part, felt repelled by him. He was gaunt and lean, and
the state of his garments had shocked her. His hands were hard and
battered. She was very dainty, and in some respects unduly sensitive,
and it did not occur to her that it would have been more natural if,
in place of shrinking, she had been sensible only of a tender pity for
him. Perhaps there were excuses for her attitude. She had never been
brought into contact with the grim realities of life, and it is only
from those whom that befalls that one can expect the wide sympathy
which springs from comprehension. Nasmyth, lounging at Bonavista with
amusing speeches on his lips and his air of easy deference, had been a
somewhat romantic figure, and the glimpses of the struggle in the Bush
that he had given her had appealed to her imagination. She could feel
the thrill of it when she saw it through his eyes with all the
unpleasantly realistic features carefully wiped out, but it was
different now that he had come back to her with the dust and stain of
the conflict fresh upon him. The evidences of his strife were only
repulsive, and she shrank from them. She watched him with a growing
impatience until he rose and laid his empty plate aside.

"Well," he observed, "you will excuse me. I must see Mr. Acton as soon
as I can."

It was not in any way a tactful speech, and Violet resented it. The
man, it seemed, had only deferred the business he had on hand for a
meal. She looked at him with her displeasure flashing in her eyes.

"In that case," she said, "I should, of course, be sorry to keep you
away from him."

Nasmyth gazed at her curiously, but he did not reply. He went away
from her. A few minutes later when he entered Acton's room he was
attired in conventional fashion. His host shook hands with him, and
then leaned back in a chair, waiting for him to speak, which he did
with a trace of diffidence.

"My object is to borrow money," he explained frankly. "I couldn't
resent it in the least if you sent me on to somebody else."

"I'll hear what you have to say in the first case," replied Acton.
"You had better ex