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Updated: June 7, 2025
The boat stopped at Tadoussac on her return, and among the spectators who came down to the landing was a certain very pretty, conscious-looking, silly, bridal-faced young woman, imaginably the belle of the season at that forlorn watering-place, who before coming on board stood awhile attended by a following of those elderly imperial and colonial British who heavily flutter round the fair at such resorts.
Eddring, slowly, "and if they are friends of yours, then I will call on them with you." "Come!" said he, feverishly. "Come!" then suddenly: "Tell me, mammy, does my hair look so awfully gray?" "John," said she, "there isn't a gray hair in it. Come on, what are you waiting for?" Eddring had turned, and was fumbling at a drawer in his desk. He raised a face flushed and conscious-looking.
She rose suddenly with a quick, graceful movement, and held out her hand to him, which he took, laughing and conscious-looking with pleasure. She sank back on the divan, and shook her head doubtfully at him. "When will you stop?" she said. "Don't tell me you mean to be an Admirable Crichton. You are too fine for that."
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