lder standing than he, that Smart was
a rising young lawyer with a brilliant future before him. He was a
constant visitor at this house. Why was it? Like a flash the thing stood
revealed to him. Without a doubt Smart was in love with Jane. His own
heart went cold at the thought. But why? he impatiently asked himself.
He was not in love with Jane. Of that he was quite certain. Why, then,
this dog-in-the-manger feeling? A satisfactory answer to this was beyond
him. One thing only stood out before his mind with startling clarity, if
Jane should give herself to Frank Smart, or, indeed, to any other, then
for him life would be emptied of one of its greatest joys. He threw down
the music book whose leaves he had been idly turning and, looking at his
watch, called out, "Do you know it is after eight o'clock, people?"

"Come, Ethel," said Jane, "we must go. And you boys will have to hurry.
Larry, don't wait for Papa. He will likely have a seat on the platform.
Good night for the present. You can find your way out, can't you? And,
Mr. MacLean, you will find something to do until we come down?"

Smiling over her shoulder, Jane took Ethel off with her upstairs.

"Come, Smart, let's get a move on," said Larry, abruptly seizing his hat
and making for the door. "We will have to fight to get in now."

The theatre was packed, pit to gods. Larry and his friend with
considerable difficulty made their way to the front row of those
standing, where they found a group of University men, who gave them
enthusiastic welcome to a place in their company. The Chairman had
made his opening remarks, and the first speaker, the Honourable B. B.
Bomberton, was well on into his oration by the time they arrived. He
was at the moment engaged in dilating upon the peril through which the
country had recently passed, and thanking God that Canada had loyally
stood by the Empire and had refused to sell her heritage for a mess of
pottage.

"Rot!" cried a voice from the first gallery, followed by cheers and
counter cheers.

The Honourable gentleman, however, was an old campaigner and not easily
thrown out of his stride. He fiercely turned upon his interrupter and
impaled him upon the spear point of his scornful sarcasm, waving the
while with redoubled vigour, "the grand old flag that for a thousand
years had led the embattled hosts of freedom in their fight for human
rights."

"Rot!" cried the same voice again. "Can the flag stuff. Get busy and say
somet