bantering tone nettled the old lady, but she
said no more. Her anger against those she loved could not last long.

"'Poker' John loves his niece," the man went on, as his companion
remained silent. "There is nothing in the world he would not do for her,
if it lay within his power."

"Then let him leave poker alone. His gambling is breaking her heart."

The angry light was again in the old lady's eyes. Her companion did not
answer for a moment. His lips had assumed that curious pursing. When he
spoke it was with, great decision.

"Impossible, my dear lady--utterly impossible. Can the Foss River help
freezing in winter? Can Jacky help talking prairie slang? Can Lablache
help grubbing for money? Can you help caring for all of our worthless
selves who belong to the Foss River Settlement? Nothing can alter these
things. John would play poker on the lid of his own coffin, while the
undertakers were winding his shroud about him--if they'd lend him a pack
of cards."

"I believe you encourage him in it," said the old lady, mollified, but
still sticking to her guns. "There is little to choose between you."

The man shrugged his indolent shoulders. This dear old lady's loyalty to
Jacky, and, for that matter, to all her friends, pleased while it amused
him.

"Maybe." Then abruptly, "Let's talk of something else."

At that moment an elderly man was seen edging his way through the
dancers. He came directly over to Mrs. Abbot.

"It's getting late, Margaret," he said, pausing before her. "I am told
it is rather gusty outside. The weather prophets think we may have a
blizzard on us before morning."

"I shouldn't be at all surprised," put in the Hon. Bunning-Ford. "The
sun-dogs have been showing for the last two days. I'll see what Jacky
says, and then hunt out old John."

"Yes, for goodness' sake don't let us get caught in a blizzard,"
exclaimed Mrs. Abbot, fearfully. "If there is one thing I'm afraid of it
is one of those terrible storms. We have thirty-five miles to go."

The new-comer, Dr. Abbot, smiled at his wife's terrified look, but, as
he turned to urge Bill to hurry, there was a slightly anxious look on
his face.

"Hurry up, old man. I'll go and see about our sleigh." Then in an
undertone, "You can exaggerate a little to persuade them, for the storm
_is_ coming on and we must get away at once."

A moment or two later "Lord" Bill and Jacky were making their way to the
smoking-room. On the stairs they met "Poker