The young man turned abruptly to tie Ginger to the poplar-tree, but even in the boundary of his cheek Colina read his beaming happiness.
With scarcely another glance at her he plunged down the bank and set to work over his fire.

Colina sedately followed and seated herself on a boulder to wait until she should be served.
Now that he no longer looked at her, Colina could not help watching him.

A dangerous softness began to work in her breast; he was so boyish, so clumsy, so anxious to entertain her fittingly--his unconsciousness of her nearness was such a transparent assumption.
Colina was alarmed by her own weakness.

She looked resolutely at the dog.
He was a mongrel black and tan, bigger than a terrier, and he had a ridiculous curly tail.

He had received her with an insulting air of indifference.
"What an ugly dog!" Colina said coolly.
The young man swung around and affectionately rubbed the dog's ear.
"The best sporting dog in Athabasca," he said promptly, but without any resentment.
Colina bit her lip again.