ve expected him to do anything startling or extravagant, even
under stress of emotion. Mrs. Colston resembled him in this respect. She
was a handsome woman, a little reserved in manner, and was tastefully
dressed in traveling tweed, which she had found too hot for the Canadian
summer. Muriel, her sister, was twenty-four, and though the two were
alike, the girl's face was fresher, more ingenuous and perhaps more
intelligent. It was an attractive face, crowned with red-gold hair; broad
brows, straight nose and firm mouth hinted at some force of character,
but her eyes of deep violet were unusually merry, and her warm coloring
suggested a sanguine temperament.

So far, Muriel Hurst had taken life lightly and had foiled Mrs. Colston's
attempts to make a suitable match for her. The daughter of a man of taste
who had died in difficulties, she had not a penny beyond the allowance
provided by her sister's generosity. Nevertheless, she was happy and had
a strong liking and respect for her prosperous brother-in-law, though his
restricted views sometimes irritated her.

She was now trying to arrange her impressions of Canada, which were
mixed. She had looked down on Montreal with its great bridge and broad
river from the wooded mountain, and from there it had struck her as a
beautiful city. Then she had seen the handsome stone houses with their
lawns at the foot of the hill, and afterward the magnificent commercial
buildings round the postoffice. These could scarcely be equaled in
London, but the rest of the town had not impressed her. It was strewn
with sand and cement-dust: they seemed to be pulling down and putting up
buildings and tearing open the streets all over it.

Afterward the Western Express had swept her through a thousand miles of
wilderness, a vast tract of forest filled with rocks and lakes and
rivers; and then she had spent two days in Winnipeg on the verge of the
prairie. This city she found perplexing. The station hall was palatial,
part of wide Main Street and Portage Avenue with their stately banks and
offices could hardly be too much admired, and there were pretty wooden
houses running back to the river among groves of trees. But apart from
this, the place was somehow primitive. There were numerous hard-faced men
hanging about the streets, and it jarred on her to see the rows of
well-dressed loungers in the hotels lolling in wooden chairs close
against the great windows, a foot or two from the street. It gave