Chapter VI: The Dinner Party

Gault and Conacher returned to the Women’s House for dinner. Gault had changed to a well-cut black suit with linen of the finest quality, and a little discreet but handsome jewelry. Poor Conacher, having no change, showed up at a disadvantage beside him. When they beheld Loseis both men caught their breath in astonishment. She was wearing one of the “outside” dresses which her father had been accustomed to import that he might have the pleasure of seeing her in them. This one was of black velvet cunningly and simply draped, and showing no touch of color. Around her neck hung a string of pearls that made Gault open his eyes; not the one with the gold nuggets; but a long plain string of beautifully matched stones. The innocent Conacher had no notion but that it was a string of pearl beads such as his sisters wore.

The table was laid for four in Loseis’ own room. She seated Moale facing her; Conacher at her right; Gault at her left. The trader who was sensitive to these little things, bit his lip at this arrangement, but was obliged to put up with it. Conacher never noticed that he had been given the seat of honor. There was fine china and silver on the table; and the food was wonderful, including delicacies which Gault himself could not command at Fort Good Hope, such as currant jelly; the joint of moose meat cunningly larded with bacon, and served with cranberry sauce; an apple pie. The three comely Marys in black dresses and snowy aprons moved noiselessly about the table, while Mary-Lou oversaw all in the kitchen.

To Conacher, after weeks on the trail, it was like a taste of Heaven; and Gault was obliged to confess to himself that the establishment while rude, nevertheless had a better style than his own. Loseis with her hair done up on top of her head looked like a Princess indeed, and the trader gloated at the thought of seeing her enthroned at _his_ table. He pictured a glorious future for Fort Good Hope. The thought of Conacher gave him little concern now. He had put down the young man to his own satisfaction as a fool.

The trader dominated the table. The lamplight was favorable to him, and he knew it. None would have thought of terming him an old man. His manner was perfection. Open-browed, courteous, half-apologetic, he kept them entertained with stories of the country; and both of the young people were to a certain extent fascinated by his charm. During the meal business was not to be touched upon.

“Ah! what a privilege it is to have a lady at the table!” said Gault wrinkling up his eyes, and showing his big white teeth.

(Rather like the wolf in the fairy-tale; thought Loseis; but I suppose some would call him a fine-looking man.)

“Hear! Hear!” said Conacher. The young man felt like a hobbledehoy alongside the elegant Gault; but he harbored no malice. Poor Conacher’s heart was oppressed by the sight of Loseis in her bravery. Could this be the rude little spitfire that he had dared to laugh at upon their first meeting?

“That is what we miss in the North,” Gault went on; “the civilizing touch of lovely woman! It is terrible the way men go to seed in this country. It is a fact that when a man’s manners go, his morals are bound to go too. Ah! my dear Miss Blackburn, if we had more like you to grace our lonely posts we’d all be better men!”

(Why haven’t I the face to say such things? thought Conacher.)

Loseis smiled a little wanly. She was secretly confused by the trader’s glibness. She had never known a man like this.

Later they sat down in front of the small fire that had been lighted to drive away the evening chill; Loseis in her hammock-chair, the men on either hand sitting stiffly in the straight-up-and-down chairs that Blackburn had carved. What remained on the table was silently whisked into the kitchen.

“You may smoke if you wish,” said Loseis.

Gault produced, wonder of wonders! a full cigar case, and offered it to the younger man. The fragrance of the genuine Havana spread around.

“Well!” said Conacher; “I never expected to get anything like this north of Fifty-eight.”

“Oh, with my improved transport,” said Gault carelessly, “I can have in pretty much anything I want.”

It now became necessary to speak of business. Gault inquired if the season’s fur had been sent out.

“No,” said Loseis.

The trader might almost be said to have purred upon hearing that. Indeed, fearing himself that he might be betraying too much complacency about the mouth, he rubbed his upper lip, and gave a little cough. “I will charge myself with that,” he said comfortably. “Make your mind quite easy.”

Loseis looked unhappy, but said nothing.

“Of course,” Gault went on with the air of one who must be fair at whatever cost to himself, “being your father’s competitor, his rival as you might say, it is not proper that I should be your sole advisor.”

Loseis looked at him in surprise. Dared he to speak of that? Her confusion increased. This man was too much for her.

“I am mighty glad that Conacher is here,” said Gault.

“But I must return down the river to-night,” said Conacher. “I am already many days behind my schedule.”

Loseis’ eyes were close-hid now. “To-night?” she echoed softly. “But you paddled all last night to get here.”

Conacher affected to laugh, while his hungry eyes sought her averted face. Loseis could have read there that he didn’t want to go; but she wouldn’t look. “Oh, going downstream’s a cinch,” said Conacher. “Two of us can sleep at a time in the dug-out, while the third man keeps her in the middle of the current.”

Loseis was silent.

“To-night!” said Gault. “Ah, that’s too bad! . . . However, I can take my measures before you go . . . Does your father employ a man of business, a lawyer, outside?” he asked Loseis.

“None that I know of,” she said, “except John Gruber.”

“Ah, Gruber,” said Gault in his purring voice (Moale at the other end of the row, listened to all this with a face like a sardonic mask), “an excellent fellow, too. But too ignorant a man to serve you in this crisis. . . . I am sure your father must have had wide interests outside of the fur business,” he said insinuatingly.

“If he had, I know nothing about it,” said Loseis. “He got business letters every year when the outfit came in, but he did not show them to me. I know nothing of business.”

“Of course not,” said Gault soothingly. “Have you looked for those letters since his death?” he asked, betraying more eagerness than was perhaps in the best of taste.

“No,” said Loseis, shortly.

Gault was pulled up short. “Hm!” he said, stroking his chin. “Hm! . . .” Finally he got a fresh start. “Well, if Blackburn employed an attorney outside, Gruber will know his name. Gruber carried all his letters out, and brought the answers back. I will write to Gruber. And if Blackburn has no lawyer already, I will send for the best one obtainable, and will arrange special means of transport for him. We’ll have him here in five or six weeks at the outside. Lastly I will send for a sergeant and detail of the police, so that the murder of Jimmy Moosenose can be investigated. Until they come, in order that the Slavis may not take fright, we will allow them to suppose that the murder has been forgotten.”

Conacher nodded in agreement with this; Loseis felt that she was being crowded to one side.

“I’ll start my letters off to Fort Good Hope at sun-up,” Gault went on. “Unfortunately my steamboat has gone up to the head of navigation, and won’t be back for a month; but by the time the messenger reaches the post, my launch will have returned from carrying Mr. Ogilvie down to the Chutes. The launch can make the Crossing in a week. Gruber will be waiting there.”

It all sounded so businesslike and proper, Loseis could take no exception to it. The smooth voice, arranging everything, afflicted her with a sort of despair.

After some desultory talk, Gault arose, saying: “With your permission I will go and write my letters now, so that Conacher may see them before he goes.”

Loseis bowed in acquiescence. She thought: I can talk to Conacher while he is away. But Gault looked sharply from one to another, and added in his polite way: “I’d be glad of your help in composing them, Conacher.” Loseis’ heart sunk. The two went out together arm in arm. Moale followed his master as a matter of course.

Loseis was left staring into the fire. Mary-Lou came to the door and looked at her full of loving solicitude; but Loseis made believe not to know that she was there. The simple Mary-Lou could be of no help to her in this situation. Loseis, whose nature it was to act instantaneously without thinking, was all at sea on this flood of words. Everything was mixed up in her mind. Maybe Gault is a true man, she thought; maybe he means what he says. Conacher is satisfied. And if he is lying what can I do anyhow? I know nothing.

In due course they returned (without Moale) and the letters were laid before Loseis. It appeared that Gault packed a little typewriter in his outfit, and Loseis, though she looked at the letters indifferently, secretly marveled at the neat clear printing. How could one contend against a man like this! She scarcely read the letters. The lengthy sentences merely dizzied her.

It goes without saying that they were admirably expressed letters. There is no need of reproducing them here, since Gault had not the slightest intention of letting them reach their destinations. They were to be conveniently lost en route.

“I am satisfied if Conacher is,” said Loseis.

“Mr. Gault has thought of everything,” said Conacher.

Soon Conacher said, affecting to make light of his heavy heart: “Well, I’ve sent my men down to launch the dug-out. I must be getting aboard.”

Gault said quickly in his hearty way: “I’ll go down and see you off.”

Conacher looked wistfully at Loseis, and hesitated.

Loseis rebelled at last. She did not feel able to dispute Gault in matters of business, but if he dared to interfere with her own private concerns, let him look out! She stood up very quickly, and her chin went up. “First I want to take Conacher to the store, and give him some grub to take,” she said coolly. “You wait here, Mr. Gault.” Her eyes sought his unafraid, and the trader’s eyes trailed away.

“Why of course!” he said in his hearty way. But his affable smile had a sickly look now. As they went through the door he shot a baleful glance after them. That was a black half hour for him, obliged to sit there, grinding his big teeth and picturing the two young creatures together in the dark. Just when everything had seemed to be going his way, too!

Outside, the black sky was crowded with stars big and little, all focused on that pair of mortal lovers. The earth was so still one seemed to hear the whisper of starlight. Loseis drew a great breath of relief. Why that load was suddenly lifted from her breast she could not have told. She involuntarily slipped her hand under Conacher’s arm, and he pressed it hard against his ribs. They walked, pressing close together, the blond head brooding low over the black one. There was no confession of love. They were still afraid of that word. And anyhow this was confession enough. With happiness their hearts became as breathlessly still as the night.

“Let’s not go to the store,” whispered Conacher. “I don’t need any grub.”

“I just said that,” whispered Loseis. “I wanted to be with you.”

“Oh, you dear! . . . you dear! . . . you dear!” he murmured tremulously.

Loseis pressed his arm. “Let’s go down on the flat,” she whispered. “He might come to the door to watch us.”

They went down the grassy slope. For a long time they did not speak. They walked at a snail’s pace, arms linked, hands clasped, and heads leaning together. At last a little whimpering sound was heard from Loseis. That brave heart owned its weakness at last.

“Oh, Paul!” she faltered. “Oh Paul, _must_ you go?”

“I must! I must!” he cried in pain. “But I will arrange things just as quick as I can, and come back.”

“It will be so long!” she said sadly.

“But at least you are safe now.”

“Oh, safe . . . maybe!”

“If you are afraid, come with me. I will take care of you.”

“No,” she said quickly. “That would not be acting right towards my father. . . . I am not afraid of any danger. But . . . but I cannot see what is before me! I do not like that man!”

“He seems to be on the square,” said Conacher anxiously. “He has provided for everything better than I could.”

“It is so terrible for me to have to be with somebody I do not like,” said Loseis.

“You have your own house,” said Conacher. “And your girls. You need only talk to him about business matters.”

“He is so ugly!” said Loseis.

“You silly girl!” said Conacher fondly. “Gault’s considered a very fine-looking man!”

“Not to me! . . . You are beautiful, my Paul. In the dark I can see your beauty!”

“Oh, Loseis! you must not say such things!” he said, genuinely distressed. “It is not fitting from you to me!”

“Why?” she asked wilfully.

“Because . . . because . . . by comparison with you I . . . Oh, Loseis, I ought to be kneeling at your feet!”

“What good would you be to my feet?” she asked, nestling against him. “I like it better this way.”

Conacher laughed suddenly and delightedly in his throat.

“Well . . . ?” said Loseis, leaving her interrogation in the air.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, you make me _say_ it!” she cried vexatiously. “Do you think I am beautiful?”

The question rendered him nearly speechless. He pressed her hand hard against his cheek. “Oh, Loseis!” he stammered. “I . . . I . . . you . . . I can’t tell you. I’m just a blundering fool when it comes to expressing my feelings. Why, you have made a new world for me. When I think of your face it drives me out of my senses. I can’t think of the words for it!”

She pillowed her cheek happily in the hollow inside his shoulder. “Then you must find words!” she said. “You must never stop telling me. My ears are greedy to hear it. Of all the world, I only care to be beautiful for you!”

In sight of the darkly flowing river they came to a stop. They could hear the murmuring voices of the two Beaver Indians at the water’s edge. They drew apart. For a long while they stood there not touching each other in dumb unhappiness and constraint. They were both new at this lovemaking business.

“Well,” said Conacher at last, like a schoolboy trying to carry it off flippantly, “I must make a break . . .”

“Oh!” she cried, hurt to the quick. “Is that all you care?”

He dropped his absurd pretense. “It is like death to leave you now,” he murmured, brokenly.

“Well, good-by,” she said suddenly in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. And turned as if to run forthwith.

He caught hold of her. “No! No!” he cried. “Not like this!”

She struggled in his arms. “Let me go! Let me go!” she whispered in a desperate voice. “I can’t stand these good-bys. I like a thing ended quickly. . . . Let me go!”

Holding her within one arm he tried to turn up her face to his. “Loseis . . . dearest . . . before I go,” he whispered imploringly. “_Please_, Loseis. . . . To remember all those lonely nights . . .”

She resisted with all her strength. “No! No! No! No! Not yet! If you kiss me I shall never be able to let you go! . . . Ah, let me go while I want to go!”

That naïve cry touched his heart. He released her. The instant she was released she lost all her desire to run. She stood there in front of him, very still.

“You had better go,” he said shakily.

“Put your hands behind your back!” she whispered breathlessly. “Stoop down a little.”

He obeyed.

Like lightning her arms went around his neck, and her lips were pressed hard against his. Then like a shadow she was gone. Through the dark her caressing whisper came back to him.

“Come back soon, dear!”

* * * * *

When Loseis got back to the Women’s House, Gault was sitting there by the fire, smoking a fresh cigar. He sprang up with a pleasant, fatherly sort of smile. His eyes dwelt lightly on Loseis’s face, but she had an impression just the same, that they were boring into her. Well, let them bore! At the business of hiding her heart she was fully his match. She showed him a smooth, untroubled face.

“Has he gone?” asked Gault.

“I expect so,” said Loseis. “I did not go down the hill with him.”

Gault rubbed his lip. He didn’t know whether or not to believe her.

He felt his way carefully. “Conacher seems like a fine young fellow,” he remarked. “Have you known him long?”

Loseis remained standing by the fire. “Oh, he stopped here for three days,” she said coolly. “But I scarcely saw him then.”

“How did he learn so soon of your father’s death?”

“I never thought to ask him,” said Loseis with a clear brow. “By moccasin telegraph, I suppose. The Slavis are continually traveling up and down the river.”

“It is too bad that he is in the government employ,” said Gault.

Loseis had no intention of discussing the man she loved with another man. She remained silent. She had a good capacity for holding her tongue. It was her only defense against Gault’s smooth talk; and it was a better defense than she realized.

Gault was obliged to go on and answer the question without its having been asked. “They never come to anything,” he said. “They are no more than clerks all their lives.”

“So I have heard,” said Loseis indifferently.

Gault was deceived by her coolness. He argued that she was too young to be able to hide her feelings so consummately. She did not care for the young geologist. Their meetings had been too few and brief for any serious damage to be worked. He began to feel better.

“How did you learn of my father’s death?” asked Loseis unexpectedly.

Gault determined to tell the truth, since it must become known anyway. “The Indian Etzooah brought me the news. Did you not send him?”

“No,” said Loseis.

“Well!” said Gault with an air of astonishment. “I suppose he must have started off blindly on his own account.”

“I didn’t know he could speak English,” said Loseis.

“He can’t. Only Cree.”

“Nobody here knew that he could speak Cree, either,” said Loseis.

Gault allowed the subject to drop. “While you were away I have been sitting here thinking over your affairs,” he said, enveloping Loseis with his smile.

Oh, Heaven! she thought; is he going to start talking again? How can I endure it without Conacher here to keep me in countenance! In desperation she feigned to hide a yawn behind her hand.

Gault had no recourse but to take the hint. “You are worn out!” he said solicitously. “And no wonder. I will retire now. And to-morrow we can talk.”

Loseis’ heart sunk. To-morrow!—and all the succeeding to-morrows! Should she never be able to escape his talk! “You are very kind,” she murmured politely.

“Good-night,” said Gault, offering her his hand.

Loseis either had to give him hers, or come to an open quarrel. With an inward shiver of repulsion, she laid her hand within his, keeping her eyes close hid. “Good-night,” she murmured.

Good God! how beautiful she is! thought Gault; with her mixture of haughty pride and shyness (for so he took it). I’d take her if she didn’t have a cent! A genuine desire was mingled with the calculation in his eyes; he bared his teeth in what he intended to be an ardent smile. In his youth Gault had been famous for his big white teeth, and he did not realize that their luster was somewhat diminished. For a moment he clung to the cool, limp hand.

“My dear, dear girl!” he murmured. “If you only knew how my heart goes out to you in this hour of affliction. My only desire is to serve you!”

Loseis gritted her teeth in a torment of repulsion. Grinning at her in that disgusting way, while his hard eyes sought to pry into her heart? She could _feel_ his grin, though she kept her eyes down. Her hand trembled with the desire to snatch itself away, and smack his leering old face. But above all she was determined that Blackburn’s daughter should not be revealed to this fine gentleman as a savage uncultured girl, and she commanded her repulsion.

“Good-night . . . good-night,” repeated Gault with a touch of archness, that looked to the future. He hastened out with a debonair swing. Loseis’ fiery eyes bored holes in his back.

Crossing the grass, Gault exulted within himself. “A half-formed child,” he thought; “an experienced man can make whatever he chooses of her! And by God, what natural elegance! what pride! what beauty! I am in luck!”

While within the room he had just left, Loseis scowled at her offending hand, and rubbed it violently on her skirt.