A Girl of the North. Susan Morrow Jones
Then he got into his canoe, and Launa watched him paddle away with slow strokes—regretful strokes they seemed to her. His paddling was so unlike that of the other men, so strong, and his body swayed to the motion. Mrs. Montmorency brought up a Mr. Evans and introduced him to Launa. He was a young Englishman, with a respect for the institutions of his country, a love for his dinner, and for pretty women.
He began by asking whether Launa considered Miss Montmorency pretty, and whether she liked Wagner. His theories were that a man can tell a woman’s character most quickly from her ideas on the subject of other women, as well as from the music she affects.
Near them sat Mr. Archer and the hostess talking. Launa heard a word here and there as she listened to Mr. Evans’ agreeable remarks, and then she heard her father say:
“Harvey is a fool or worse. The Indians will not stand it. Peter Joe came to me about it; he says he would kill him, only that he is sure he would be hanged for it.”
“You think they will take some quiet revenge,” said Mrs. Montmorency, “and more deadly.”
“Yes, I do.”
“In their mind a child constitutes marriage?”
“If its father does not want to marry anyone else,” he answered. “They will be satisfied if he lets things alone, but he won’t.”
“He does want to marry?”
“I think so. Money will considerably improve his house, and pay off some of the mortgages; he will, I expect, take a wife with money.”
“It is terrible, and such a pity. I always liked Mr. Harvey for his mother’s sake, and I have ever made him welcome.”
“I advised him to marry her—the squaw,” said Mr. Archer. “It will finish him socially, but in other ways it will make a man of him. Harvey is—”
Here they walked away to the bow of the Lethe, and Launa’s companion talked on, and she answered him.
She impressed him with her interest, her air of being fascinated by him, and all the while she was in torment. Harvey had held her hand! She took off her pale tan suede glove and threw it into the water. It burnt her; her hands felt hot.
Her quick action puzzled Mr. Evans.
“Miss Archer, your glove! Is it a challenge? Do you mean me to go after it?”
“No, no,” she answered. “I hate it; I do not want it. Oh, we are going.”
The Lethe had steam up, and was puffing and moving slowly.
“I am so glad. It is very hot. How cool the air is.”
They passed Paul in his canoe. He waved his hand to Launa, who was staring into the water, and appeared absorbed in the depths or in her companion.
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