"I am not sure where he is. I heard he had gone to Montreal." And when she had said it she became as white as the dainty lawn blouse she wore. Roderick made a blundering attempt to apologise for something, he scarcely knew what, and only made matters worse. "I--I beg your pardon," he said, "I shouldn't have asked--but I thought--we understood--at least I mean Billy said," he floundered about hopelessly, and she came to his aid. "That Dr. Wells and I were engaged?" She was looking at him directly now, sitting erect with a sparkle in her eye. "Yes," he whispered. "It was true--then. But it is not now." "I am so sorry I spoke--" faltered Roderick. "You need not be," she broke in. "It was quite natural--only--" she looked at him keenly for a moment as though taking his measure. "May I ask a favour of you, Mr. McRae?" "Oh, yes, I should be so glad," he broke out, anxious to make amends. "Then if you would be so good as to make no mention of--of this. I shall be living in Algonquin now for some time probably." She stopped falteringly. She could not confess to this strange young man that she had come away to this little town where no one knew her just to escape the curiosity and pity of acquaintances and friends, and that she was dismayed at meeting one on its very threshold who knew her secret. She was relieved to find him more anxious to keep it than she herself. He assured her that he would not even think of it again, and then he stumbled upon a remark about the fishing in Lake Algonquin, and the duck-shooting, two things, he recollected afterwards, in which she could not possibly be interested, and finally he made his escape. He leaned over the bow, watching the channel opening out its green arms to the _Inverness_, and tried to recall all that he had heard about Dick Wells. Billy Parker, who knew all college gossip, had told him much to which he had scarcely listened. But he remembered something concerning a broken engagement. Wells was to have been married in June to the pretty Miss Murray, Billy had said. She had her trousseau all ready, and then Dick had gone on a trip to the Old Country alone. No one knew the reason, though Billy had declared it was the same old reason--"Another girl." Roderick McRae's chivalry had never before been called into action where young women were concerned. Now he felt something new and strong rising within him. He was suddenly filled with the old spirit which sent a knight out upon the highway to do doughty deeds for the honour of a lady, or to right her wrongs. His warm heart was filled with conflicting emotions, rage at himself for having brought the hurt look into those soft blue eyes, rage at Wells for being the primary cause of it, and underneath all a strange, quite unreasonable, feeling of exhilaration over the fact that he and the girl with the golden hair and the sad eyes had a secret between them.