On the evening that George left for Brandon, Edgar drove over to the
Grant homestead.
"It's Saturday night, my partner's gone, and I felt I deserved a little relaxation," he explained.
"It's something to be able to feel that; the men who opened up this wheat-belt never got nor wanted anything of the kind," Grant rejoined. "But as supper's nearly ready, you have come at the right time."
Edgar turned to Flora.
"Your father always makes me feel that I belong to a decadent age. One can put up with it from him, because he's willing to live up to his ideas, which is not a universal rule, so far as my experience of moralizers goes. Anyhow, I'll confess that I'm glad to arrive in time for a meal. The cooking at our place might be improved; George, I regret to say, never seems to notice what he eats."
"That's a pretty good sign," said Grant.
"It strikes me as a failing for which I have to bear part of the consequences."
Flora laughed.
"If you felt that you had to make an excuse for coming, couldn't you have made a more flattering one?"
"Ah!" said Edgar, "you have caught me out. But I could give you a number of better reasons. It isn't my fault you resent compliments."