"
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.
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