though," said Nora, with a laugh, "when I
asked you if you'd take me. I suppose it was only about fifteen seconds
before you answered, but it seemed like ten minutes. I thought you were
going to refuse. How Gertie would have gloated!"

"I was thinking."

"I see. Counting up my good points and balancing them against my bad
ones."

"N-o-o-o: I was thinking you wouldn't have asked me like that if you
hadn't of despised me."

Nora caught her breath sharply, but her manner lost none of its
lightness.

"I don't know what made you think that."

"Well, I don't know how you could have put it more plainly that my name
was mud."

"Why didn't you refuse, then?"

"I guess I'm not the nervous sort, either," he remarked dryly over his
teacup.

"_And_," Nora reminded him, "women are scarce in Manitoba."

"I've always fancied an English woman," he went on, ignoring her little
thrust. "They make the best wives going when they've been licked into
shape."

Nora showed her amusement frankly.

"Are you purposing to attempt that operation on me?"

"Well, you're clever. I guess a hint or two is about all you'll want."

"You embarrass me when you pay me compliments."

"I'll take you round and show you the land to-morrow," he said, tilting
back on his stool, to the imminent peril of his equilibrium. "I ain't
done all the clearing yet, so there'll be plenty of work for the winter.
I want to have a hundred acres to sow next year. And then, if I get a
good crop, I've a mind to take another quarter. You can't make it pay
really without you've got half a section. And it's a tough proposition
when you ain't got capital."

"I had no idea I was marrying a millionaire."

"Never you mind, my girl, you shan't live in a shack long, I promise
you. It's the greatest country in the world. We only want three good
crops and you shall have a brick house same as you lived in back home."

"I wonder what they're doing in England now."

"Well, I guess they're asleep."

"When I think of England I always think of it at tea time," began Nora,
and then stopped short.

A wave of regret caught her throat. In spite of herself, the tears
filled her eyes. She looked miserably at the cheap, ugly tea things on
the makeshift table before her. Her husband watched her gravely.
Presently she went on, more to herself than to him:

"Miss Wickham had a beautiful old silver teapot, a George Second. She
was awfully proud of it. And she was proud of her tea