he calls Aunt Caroline?
'The-old-woman-who-sniffs-the-air.' Desire did not translate. Isn't she
rather a wonder, John? Did you ever see anything like the way she
manages Aunt?"

But the doctor's eyes were on the distant tents.

"Someone in blue is waving to us," he said. "It must be your Aunt."

Spence lazily raised his eyes.

"No. That's Desire. She is wearing blue."

"She was wearing pink this morning."

"Yes. But she won't be wearing it this afternoon."

"How do you know?" curiously.

The professor yawned. "By psychology! I happened to mention that pink
was Mary's favorite color."

Rogers opened his lips. He was plainly struggling with himself.

"Don't trouble," said Spence serenely. "I know what you feel it your
duty to say. But it isn't really your duty. And there would be no use
in saying it, anyway. I take my chances!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The long Transcontinental puffed steadily up toward the white-capped
peaks of a continent. They were a day out from Vancouver--a day during
which Desire had sat upon the observation platform, drugged with wonder
and beauty. She had known mountains all her life. They were dear and
familiar, and the sound of rushing water was in her blood. But these
heights and depths, these incredible valleys, these ever-climbing,
piling hills pushing brown shoulders through their million pines, the
dizzy, twisting track and the constant marvel of the man-made train
which braved it, held her spellbound and almost speechless.

Fortunately, Aunt Caroline was indisposed and had remained all day in
the privacy of their reserved compartment. Only one such reservation
had been available and the men of the party had been compelled to
content themselves with upper berths in the next car.

To Desire, who presented that happy combination, a good traveller still
uncloyed by travel, every deft arrangement of the comfortable train
provided matter for curiosity and interest--the little ladders for the
upstair berths, the tiny reading-lamps, the paper bags for one's new
hat, the queer little soaps and drinking cups in sealed oil paper--all
these brought their separate thrill. And then there was the
inexhaustible interest of the travellers themselves. When night had
fallen and the great Outside withdrew itself, she turned with eager
eyes to the shifting world around her, a human world even more
absorbing than the panorama of the hills.

What was there, for instance, about that handsome old