eyes were deeply
reflective as he watched the gently falling snow outside. He was a
sturdy creature in his well-cut, well-cared-for black suit. For all he
was past middle life there was little about him to emphasise the fact
unless it were his trim, well-brushed snow-white hair, and the light
covering of whisker and beard of a similar hue. He looked to be full of
strength of purpose and physical energy.

His back was turned on the pleasant dining-room of his home in
Abercrombie, a remote town in Ontario, where he and his wife had only
just finished breakfast. Sarah Nisson was sitting beside the anthracite
stove which radiated its pleasant warmth against the bitter chill of
winter reigning outside. She was still consuming the pages of her bulky
mail.

A clock chimed the hour, and the wife looked up from her letter. She
turned a face that was still pretty for all her fifty odd years, in the
direction of the man at the window.

"Ten o'clock, Charles," she reminded him. Then her enquiring look melted
into a gentle smile. "The office has less attraction with the snow
falling."

"It has less attraction to-day, anyway," the lawyer responded without
turning. A short laugh punctuated his prompt reply.

"You mean the Nancy McDonald business?"

Sarah Nisson laid her mail aside.

"Yes." The lawyer sighed and turned from his contemplation of the snow.
He moved across to the stove. "I'm a bit of a coward, Sally," he went
on, holding out his hands to the warmth. "The lives of other people are
nearly as interesting as they are exasperating. They seem just as
foolishly ordered as we believe our own to be well and truly ordered. I
don't know who it was said 'all men are fools,' or liars, or something,
but I guess he was right. Yes, we're all fools. I really don't know how
we manage to get through a day, let alone a lifetime, without absolute
disaster. We spend most of our time abusing Providence for the result of
our own shortcomings, when really we ought to be mighty polite and
thankful to the blind good fortune that lets us dodge the results of our
follies."

"All of which I suppose has to do with the way Leslie Martin, or Leslie
Standing, as he calls himself now, is acting."

"Well, most of it."

The man's eyes had become seriously reflective again.

Sarah Nisson nodded her pretty head. She leant her ample proportions
towards the stove and emulated her husband's attitude, warming her plump
hands. Her brown eyes were twi