strangely, as though the French of Saint Simon--or something like
it--breathed again from a Canadian mouth. Anderson meanwhile was
standing outside with the Chief Justice. She threw a glance at him now
and then, wondering about his love affair. Had he really got over
it?--or was that M. Mariette's delusion? She liked, on the contrary, to
think of him as constant and broken-hearted!

* * * * *

The car stopped, as it seemed, on the green prairie, thirty miles from
Winnipeg. Elizabeth was given up to the owner of the great farm--one of
the rich men of Canada for whom experiment in the public interest
becomes a passion; and Anderson walked on her other hand.

Delaine endured a wearisome half-hour. He got no speech with Elizabeth,
and prize cattle were his abomination. When the half-hour was done, he
slipped away, unnoticed, from the party. He had marked a small lake or
"slough" at the rear of the house, with wide reed-beds and a clump of
cottonwood. He betook himself to the cottonwood, took out his pocket
Homer and a notebook, and fell to his task. He was in the
thirteenth book:

[Greek: ôs d hot anêr dorpoio lilaietai, ô te pauêmar neion an helkêton
boe oinope pêkton arotron]

"As when a man longeth for supper, for whom, the livelong day, two
wine-coloured oxen have dragged the fitted plough through the fallow,
and joyful to such an one is the going down of the sun that sends him to
his meal, for his knees tremble as he goes--so welcome to Odysseus was
the setting of the sun": ...