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Well, the owners had left that young man's photograph among some other odds and ends in what they probably called the library." Ida had no doubt upon the matter, for she recalled the curious intentness of Weston's face as he sat in the firelight listening to Kinnaird's description of the house in question. Still, she was not prepared to display her interest. "Well?" she inquired again.
It was rather a big admission, but she said nothing else, and it was Weston who broke the silence. "I have to thank you for the prospecting outfit," he said. The girl flashed a quick glance at him. "It was partly Major Kinnaird's idea. You made use of it?" Weston smiled. "Grenfell and I did. That explains the state of my attire. You see, we have just come down from the bush."
There was a suggestion of grossness in the face of Major Kinnaird's guest, which had certainly not been a characteristic of Weston the packer. The older man's expression was petulant and arrogant; that of the one who had served her as camp attendant had been, as a rule, good-humoredly whimsical.
"Not always," said Weston. "I cut my foot a little while ago. If it hadn't been for that I shouldn't have fallen down and broken Miss Kinnaird's things." "And mine!" "And yours," admitted Weston. "As I said, I'm particularly sorry. Still, if you will let me have the bag afterward I can, perhaps, mend the lock. You see, I assisted a general jobbing mechanic."
'It's Mr. Kinnaird's christened name that I'm speering for. 'An' I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me. It'd be no place of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o' it himsel'. 'Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card, maybe? 'I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie. He's a verra fine gentleman; it's just Mr. Kinnaird that he's called.
The wind continued to favour us, drawing gradually to the westward. We sighted a red light on Kinnaird's Head, which, as we got more to the eastward, changed to a bright colour. Beyond it was Fraserburgh. By hauling our wind we were able to steer for Rathay Head. Near it we caught sight of Inverugie Castle.
Young as Ida was, she had a grip of essential things, and a dislike of shams. It generally happened, too, that, when she felt strongly on any subject, she sooner or later expressed her thoughts in forcible words; and before that afternoon was over she and Arabella Kinnaird between them disturbed the composure of more than one of Mrs. Kinnaird's guests.
The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother, of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in. There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her.
Besides, he was young enough to be sanguine, although, for that matter, older men, worn by disappointments and toilsome journeys among the hills, have set out once more on the gold trail with an optimistic faith that has led them to their death. Ambition awoke in him, and he recognized now that the week or two spent in Kinnaird's camp had rendered it impossible for him to remain a track-grader.
"The life I've led here, and the few weeks I spent at Kinnaird's camp, have rather spoiled me for the bush. Some of the customs prevalent in the trail-choppers' shanties and the logging-camps are a little primitive, and one can't quite overcome a certain distaste for them." "That was not quite what I meant," said Ida.
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