And why did I prefer to wait? I asked myself this question and found no answer. When the answer came, it was unmistakable in its leadings. "A letter from Doctor Rugvie; he is coming Monday!" I cried joyfully, flourishing the sheet in Jamie's face when he appeared at the door to ask for his mail. I was sitting on the floor by the shelves in the living-room, for I was busy cataloguing the books in the general and mixed collection, and searching for allied subjects. This work Mr. Ewart assigned to me after I had finished the "forestry" cataloguing. "Where 's mine?" "You have n't any, nor Mr. Ewart--from the Doctor, I mean." "You seem to be particularly elated over the fact." "Jamie, my friend, feel--" I held up the envelope to him; he took it and fingered it investigatingly. "What's this in it?" "That is an object which in international currency exchange we call a draft--the equivalent of my wages, Jamie; in other words, payment for industrial efficiency; do you hear?" "My, but you are a mercenary woman! One of the kind we read of in the States," he retorted. "Wait till you get your first check for royalties from London, then use that word and tone to me again if you dare." Mr. Ewart opened the door of the office. "What's this I hear about the Doctor and mercenary tendencies--the two don't go together as I happen to know." He spoke from the threshold. Jamie showed him the envelope, holding it high above my head. "This, Ewart, is the compensation for sundry days of so-called labor on the part of Miss Farrell--drives, snow-shoeing, tobogganing with Cale not discounted, of course. Shall I read it, Marcia?" "For all I care." Mr. Ewart looked on smiling at our chaff. "It's on the First National Bank of New York, Ewart, for the amount of fifty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents--how 's that about the cents, Marcia?" "Because the Doctor insists on paying me every two months and seems to call thirty days a month--why every two, I don't know, do you?" I said laughing, and looking up, questioning, into Mr. Ewart's face. What I saw there, what I am sure Jamie saw, was not encouraging for more jesting on Jamie's part or mine. He turned away abruptly and sat down at his desk before he spoke: "The Doctor wired me this afternoon that he would be here to-night instead of Monday, as he can get in an extra day. I can't say how sorry I am it has happened so, for I made arrangements to be in Quebec to-night and in Ottawa to-morrow night. I return Monday. Well, I must leave him in your hands--he won't lack entertainment. I wish, Jamie, it were possible for you to risk it and meet him with me this evening; but I suppose this night air is too keen--it's ten below now. I shall take the train he comes on and may not have time for a word of welcome."