Mrs. Ashborne smiled. She had met Margaret Keith by chance in Quebec,
but their acquaintance was of several years' standing.

"Tired?" she said. "That is sorely a new sensation for you. I've
often envied you your energy."

Age had touched Mrs. Keith lightly, though she had long been a
childless widow and had silvery hair. Tall and finely made, with
prominent nose and piercing eyes, she was marked by a certain
stateliness and a decided manner. She was blunt without rudeness, and
though often forceful was seldom arrogant.

Careless of her dress, as she generally was, Margaret Keith bore the
stamp of refinement and breeding, "Ah!" she said; "I begin to feel I'm
old. But will you come to Montreal with me to-night?"

"I suppose I'd better, though the boat takes longer than the train, and
I hear that the Place Viger is full. I don't know anything about the
other hotels; they might not be comfortable."

"They'll no doubt be able to offer us all that we require, and I never
pamper myself," Mrs. Keith replied. "In fact, it's now and then a
relief to do something that's opposed to the luxuriousness of the age."

'This was a favorite topic, but she broke off as a man came toward her,
carrying one or two small parcels which apparently belonged to the girl
at his side. He was a handsome man, tall and rather spare, with dark
eyes and a soldierly look. His movements were quick and forceful, but
a hint of what Mrs. Keith called swagger somewhat spoiled his bearing.
She thought he allowed his self-confidence to be seen too plainly. The