of kindly patience, not unmixed
with a suspicion of amused tolerance. It was the face of a man in whom
women like to place confidence, and with whom men never attempt to
take liberties. He had, too, a charm of manner unusual in men living
the rough life of the prairie.

The tinkling strains of the waltz had ceased, and Prudence went back
to the parlour. She felt that it was high time to set the tables for
"progressive euchre." It was past eight and Grey had not turned up.
She began to think he intended carrying out his threat of staying
away. Well, if he chose to do so he could. She wouldn't ask him to do
otherwise. She felt unhappy about him in spite of her brave thoughts.

Her announcement of cards was hailed with delight, and the guests
departed with a rush to search the house for a sufficient number of
small tables to cope with the requirements of the game.

In the kitchen George Iredale was slowly sipping a steaming glass of
rye whisky toddy. He was seated in a rigid, high-backed arm-chair,
well away from the huge cook-stove, at which Hephzibah Malling was
presiding. Many kettles and saucepans stood steaming upon the black
iron top, and the occasional opening and shutting of the ovens told of
dainties which needed the old farm-wife's most watchful care. Mrs.
Malling's occupation, however, did not interrupt her flow of
conversation. George Iredale was a great favourite of hers.

"He's like his poor father in some things," she was saying, as she
lifted a batch of small biscuits out of the oven and moved towards the
ice-box with them. "He never squealed about his misfortune to me. Not
one letter did I get asking for help. He's proud, is Hervey. And now I
don't know, I'm sure."

She paused with her hand on the open door of the refrigerator and
looked back into the man's face.

"Did he tell you any details of his failure? What was responsible for
it?" Iredale asked, poising his glass on one of the unyielding arms of
his chair.

"No, that he didn't, not even that," in a tone of pride. "He just
said he'd failed. That he was 'broke.' He's too knocked up with
travelling--he's come from Winnipeg right here--or you should hear it
from his own lips. He never blamed no one."

"Ah--and you are going to help him, Mrs. Malling. What are you going
to do?"

"That's where I'm fixed some. Money he can have--all he wants."

Iredale shook his head gravely.

"Bad policy, Mrs. Malling--until you know all the facts."

"Wha