Chapter XX. Her Clinging Arms

The ancient capital of Canada--the old gray queen of the mighty St. Lawrence--is a city of many charms and of much stately beauty. Its narrow, climbing streets, with their quaint shops and curious gables, its old market, with chaffering habitant farmers and their wives, are full of living interest. Its noble rock, crowned with the ancient citadel, and its sweeping tidal river, lend it a dignity and majestic beauty that no other city knows; and everywhere about its citadel and walls, and venerable, sacred buildings, there still linger the romance and chivalry of heroic days long gone. But there are times when neither the interests of the living present nor the charms of the romantic past can avail, and so a shadow lay upon Maimie's beautiful face as she sat in the parlor of the Hotel de Cheval Blanc, looking out upon the mighty streets and the huddled roofs of the lower town. She held in her hand an open note.

"It is just awfully stupid," she grumbled, "and I think pretty mean of him!"

"Of whom, may I ask?" said Kate, pausing in her singing, "or is there any need? What says the gallant lieutenant?"

Maimie tossed her the note.

"The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the rain told us that; and he is unavoidably prevented from calling, and entreats your sympathy and commiseration. Well, that's a very nice note, I am sure."

"Where has he been these three days! He might have known it would be stupid, and Harry gives one no satisfaction." Maimie was undeniably cross. "And Ranald, too," she went on, "where has he been? Not even your music could bring him!" with a little spice of spite. "I think men are just horrid, anyway."

"Especially when they will keep away," said Kate.

"Well, what are they good for if not to entertain us? I wish we could do without them! But I do think Ranald might have come."

"Well," said Kate, emphatically, "I can't see why you should expect him."

"Why not?"

"I think you ought to know."

"I, how should I know?" Maimie's innocent blue eyes were wide open with surprise.

"Nonsense," cried Kate, with impatience rare in her, "don't be absurd, Maimie; I am not a child."

"What do you mean?"

"You needn't tell me you don't know why Ranald comes. Do you want him to come?"

"Why, of course I do; how silly you are."

"Well," said Kate, deliberately, "I would rather be silly than cruel and unkind."

"Why, Kate, how dreadful of you!" exclaimed Maimie; "'cruel and unkind!'"

"Yes." said Kate; "you are not treating Ranald well. You should not encourage him to--to--care for you when you do not