in ordinary clothes!"

Kitty Wade, turning her head to retort, surprised a quiet, enigmatic
smile on Clyde's face. Their eyes met, and keen question and defiant
answer leaped across the glance. Kitty Wade let the retort remain
unspoken, and contemplated the nigh chestnut's ears, for her husband's
last words had given her a clew.

"Oh, Clyde Burnaby, Clyde Burnaby!" she said to herself with a little
shake of the head. "Now I know. What a deep finesse! You think
that this McCrae girl will put on her best country-maid--or
country-made--finery; and you, in your studied simplicity, will show
the better by contrast--to the masculine eye, at least. I give you full
credit, my dear. Not one woman in a thousand would have thought of it.
_I_ shouldn't, and I know men better than you do. But why did you do
it? Are you _jealous_ of a girl you've never seen? And does that mean
you care--seriously care--for our pleasant but likely impecunious Mr.
Dunne?"

She was still puzzling over this problem when they drove up to the
house. Donald McCrae and his wife welcomed them, and he and Casey took
the team to the stable. But as the others reached the welcome shade of
the veranda Sheila emerged from the house and came forward. At sight of
her Kitty Wade smiled to herself.

For Sheila had not donned finery. She was clad in simple white,
unrelieved by any touch of colour. Not a ring adorned her slim, brown
hands. Her masses of glistening, brown hair were dressed low on her
head, giving an effect almost girlish, softening the keenness of her
face. She was as composed, as dignified, as essentially ladylike as
Clyde herself.

Clyde thanked her gracefully for the arrangement of their rooms. It was
very good of her to take such trouble for strangers.

"Oh, but I'm afraid I did that for Casey, and not for the strangers,"
laughed Sheila. "I hope old Feng didn't undo my work. He thought I was
butting in. Anyway, Casey would have seen that you were comfortable,
though some of his ideas of domestic arrangements are masculine, to say
the least of them." She told the story of the hen, and set them
laughing.

Later Casey, having stabled the horses, came up with McCrae. "Well,
Sheila, what's the good word?" he asked. "What yarns have you been
telling Miss Burnaby?"

"I was telling her of your poultry system."

"Miss McCrae has been suggesting all sorts of things for our
amusement," said Clyde; "from a dance to riding lessons."

"I didn't say a