the deckhouse, where he waited, by no means wholly pleased at the
meeting. He had spent most of the previous night with certain men
interested in finance and provincial politics, and being new to the
gentle art of wire-pulling had not quite recovered his serenity. He
regretted the good cigar he had thrown away, and scarcely felt equal to
sustaining the semi-sentimental trend of conversation Millicent had
affected whenever he met her, but she was alone, and cut off all hope
of escape by saying:

"You will not desert me. One never feels solitude so much as when left
to one's own resources among a crowd of strangers."

"Certainly not, if you can put up with my company; but where is your
husband?" Geoffrey responded. Millicent looked up at him with a
chastened expression.

"Enjoying himself. Some gentlemen, whose good-will is worth gaining,
asked him to go inland for a few days' fishing, and he said it was
necessary he should accept the invitation. Accordingly, I am as usual
left to my own company while I make a solitary journey down the Sound.
It is hardly pleasant, but I suppose all men are much the same, and we
poor women must not complain."

Millicent managed to convey a great deal more than she said, and her
sigh suggested that she often suffered keenly from loneliness; but
while Geoffrey felt sorry for her, he was occupied by another thought
just then, and did not at first answer.

"What are you puzzling over, Geoffrey?" she asked, and the man smiled
as he answered:

"I was wondering if the same errand which took your husband to
Victoria, was the same that sent me there."

"I cannot say." Millicent's gesture betokened weariness. "I know
nothing of my husband's business, and must do him the justice to say
that he seldom troubles me about it. I have little taste for details
of intricate financial scheming, but practical operations, like your
task among the mountains, would appeal to me. It must be both romantic
and inspiring to pit one's self against the rude forces of Nature; but
one grows tired of the prosaic struggle which is fought by eating one's
enemies' dinners and patiently bearing the slights of lukewarm allies'
wives. However, since the fear of poverty is always before me, I try
to play my part in it."

Helen Savine had erred strangely when she concluded that Geoffrey
Thurston was without sympathy. Hard and painfully blunt as he could
be, he was nevertheless compassionate towards women,