ll come out about
two-thirty and pay a hurry-up five-minute call. Then I'll excuse myself
to Mrs. Abbey for inability to join them at dinner--press of important
business takes me to Victoria and so forth. That'll satisfy the
conventions and let us both out. I called you so you won't be taken by
surprise. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," she answered instantly. "Why should I?"

There was a momentary silence.

"Well," he said at last, "I didn't know how you'd feel about it. Anyway,
it will only be for a few minutes, and it's unlikely to happen again."

Stella put the receiver back on the hook and looked at her watch. It
lacked a quarter of two. In the room adjoining, Charlie and Linda were
jubilantly wading through the latest "rag" song in a passable soprano
and baritone, with Mrs. Abbey listening in outward resignation. Stella
sat soberly for a minute, then joined them.

"Jack's in town," she informed them placidly, when the ragtime spasm
ended. "He telephoned that he was going to snatch a few minutes between
important business confabs to run out and see me."

"I could have told you that half an hour ago, my dear," Mrs. Abbey
responded with playful archness. "Mr. Fyfe will dine with us this
evening."

"Oh," Stella feigned surprise. "Why, he spoke of going to Victoria on
the afternoon boat. He gave me the impression of mad haste--making a
dash out here between breaths, as you might say."

"Oh, I hope he won't be called away on such short notice as that," Mrs.
Abbey murmured politely.

She left the room presently. Out of one corner of her eye Stella saw
Linda looking at her queerly. Charlie had turned to the window, staring
at the blue blur of the Lions across the Inlet.

"It's a wonder Jack would leave the lake," he said suddenly, "with
things the way they are. I've been hoping for rain ever since I've been
down. I'll be glad when we're on the spot again, Linda."

"Wishing for rain?" Stella echoed. "Why?"

"Fire," he said shortly. "I don't suppose you realize it, but there's
been practically no rain for two months. It's getting hot. A few weeks
of dry, warm weather, and this whole country is ready to blow away. The
woods are like a pile of shavings. That would be a fine wedding
present--to be cleaned out by fire. Every dollar I've got's in timber."

"Don't be a pessimist," Linda said sharply.

"What makes you so uneasy now?" Stella asked thoughtfully. "There's
always the fire danger in the dry months. That