The young man slapped him joyously upon the back. "By Jove!" he cried enthusiastically, "I've found you at last! Come along here, my Eureka; there's a young lady here waiting to fall down and worship you. Didn't you pull the Reverend Egerton out of a hole in the ice at Christmas? You close beggar, why couldn't you tell people? And Jack Egerton's your minister! Well, Jupiter, wouldn't that drive anyone to drink! You'll know all about Miss Weir-Huntley, then. She's had me doing amateur detective work for nearly a week, running down a glorious hero by the name of Neil. I didn't know you had to travel incog. Come along here; you may be a questionable character, for all I know, but she thinks you're Neptune's own son. There she is, under the lamps, the goddess in pale green. Isn't she a stunner? Don't you wish you had let the Reverend Jack go under?" Donald's grip brought the young man's headlong progress to a sudden termination. His brain was in a whirl. The young lady's name had awakened vague memories of Glenoro gossip. "Hold on there," he said firmly, "what are you raving about? Who is Miss Weir-Huntley anyway, and what under the canopy does she want with me?" "Why, you unshorn, backwoods lamb, she's the belle of Toronto! She's Jack Egerton's dearly-beloved, and finally and most important of all, she's the faithful and adoring worshipper of your glorious self!" But Donald was in no mood for levity. He looked across the heads of the crowd at the regal young woman beneath the chandelier. "Do you mean to tell me," he asked, "that she's engaged to--to marry our minister, Mr. Egerton?" "Why, of course. Everybody knows that. She's waiting till he gets famous. Don't faint! By Jove, old fellow, I believe you're hit already! All the fellows get that way over her; I'm a chronic case myself. Cheer up; shouldn't wonder if she'd throw Jack over for you. She's awfully taken with you already, and when she sees you----" He broke off with an extravagant gesture of admiration which was not altogether feigned. Donald did not notice him; he was asking himself why he had not let the double-dealing cad drown, but the next moment he was bowing over a beautiful, jewelled hand and a pair of dark eyes were looking unutterable gratitude into his, and Donald felt ashamed. He left her as soon as was possible without seeming rude, and went home to face the matter squarely. This man, this despicable creature who had won Jessie's affection, was playing with her. He was amusing himself making love to the little country girl while this haughty young queen held his heart. Donald was torn by conflicting emotions. Should he write to Jessie and tell her? He was too sorely hurt to do that, besides she would not listen to him. Should he write to John Egerton and tell him in a few scorching words what he thought of him? In the end he did neither, and two in Glenoro who expected to hear from him wondered at his silence.