"I'd have been here before," she said, "but I've been suffering from
snow-blindness."
"Ah, that's bad sometimes. Your eyes are better now?"
"Y-yes, I think so."
"I can give you a first-class lotion, lady."
Sylvie and he discussed the lotion while Pete stood, drawn up, proud
and silent, his cheeks flushed, waiting to dispose of his pelts. The
bartering prolonged itself in spite of his best endeavors. Sylvie
seemed to have no sense of peril or anxiety. She insisted upon taking
a bite of early supper, forced coffee and bread and meat upon her
companion, and chatted affably. Pete saw that the Eastern stranger
had riveted upon her his attention, that he observed every gesture,
listened to every word, and while she ate, that he walked over and
asked a few murmured questions of the trader, nodding his head, then
shaking it over the answers as though they confirmed some suspicion
or anxiety.
At last Pete could bear the delay no longer. Gruffly he bade Sylvie
come with him. He caught her hand and led her out, she looking back
over her shoulder like a loath child. They had gone but a few yards
along the beach trail when the sober, solid gentleman came out across
the porch and waved his hand to them.
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