After all, why should I ?" Ida was sensible of a certain satisfaction, but she desired to make more sure.
"There must be somebody you would wish to see, or somebody who would care to see you ?" "Ah," said Weston, "the failures are soon forgotten over yonder.
Perhaps it's fortunate that it happens so." A shadow crept into his face.
"No," he added, "unless it is as a successful man, it is scarcely likely that I shall go back again." Ida glanced at him covertly, with thoughtful eyes.

Though his attire was neater than it had been when she had seen him on other occasions, he still wore the bush packer's usual dress.

There was, however, a subtle grace in his manner, and, though he was by no means a brilliant conversationalist, there was something in his voice and the half-whimsical tricks of fancy which now and then characterized him that made a wide distinction between him and the general hired hand.
Once more it seemed to her that when he had called the old country a garden it was a somewhat apt description, for this man had evidently been subjected to careful training and pruning in his youth.

He was, she felt, one who had grown up under a watchful eye.
"Well," she said, with a little laugh, "perhaps you are wise.

One could almost fancy that the old land is overcrowded, and even on the richest soil one needs light and air." Weston's smile showed that he could understand her train of thought.
"I certainly think that some of us are hardier for transplanting," he replied.