Urmston laughed, though he felt that he had been favoured with a hint. Mrs. Annersly, however, had more to say. "Have you suddenly grown energetic, and decided to do something?" she asked. "No," said Urmston. "As a matter of fact, I came out to see the country and enjoy myself, although I have an ostensible mission. Geoffrey Crossthwaite is, as you are aware, a meddler in social economics, and has lately become interested in one of the especially commendable schemes for dumping into our dependencies the folks nobody seems to want at home." "Ah," said Eveline Annersly, "that explains the thing." Urmston flushed a trifle, and forced a smile. "Well," he said, "I'm not quite sure that it does in itself. I happen to know a little about English farming, and am expected to report upon the prospects of giving other undesirables a start in life here, though there are two regular experts with the party." "So you made a journey of two hundred miles to see Carrie and me, while they did the work? Still, I have no doubt her husband will be able to teach you a little about Canadian farming." Urmston made a little gesture. "I am a stranger, madam, and in your hands. Treat me gently." This was said good-humouredly, and with some gracefulness; but, trifling as the matter was, Carrie contrasted his attitude with the one she fancied her husband would have adopted. He would have braced himself for the encounter against much longer odds. She was grateful, however, to Eveline Annersly for the bantering conversation, as it gave her time to decide exactly what her own course must be. The circumstances were certainly somewhat embarrassing. When at last the meal was over, Eveline Annersly stuck to them persistently, and it was only when the chill of the clear, cold evening settled down upon the prairie that she left them alone upon the verandah. Urmston, who lay languidly graceful in a cane chair, glanced at Carrie. "I have been looking forward to seeing you for days, and now I feel that this is not quite what I expected. You have changed," he said. Carrie laughed, though she felt that the wistful note in his voice was genuine. She remembered, too, that she had once been fond of and believed in him, but she had, as she expressed it, grown since then, while it was evident that he was still the same. In fact, she felt he was remarkably young. "Well," she said, "you have not." "No," said Urmston; "I am, unfortunately, one of the people who don't change at all. It would be so much easier for me if I did." This was sufficiently plain, but it brought no gratification to the girl. On the whole, she was rather annoyed with him, though she had a lingering tenderness for him still. After all, he had loved her as well as he was capable of loving, and that counts for a good deal with some women. "There was," he said, "only one woman who could have made the most out of me, and have led me to a higher level."