kept up until the old Hudson Bay Post dropped out of sight, and
the buckboard with its lightsome load of hearts deliriously happy,
jogged on over the uneven trail.

* * * * *

She was "all the rage" that winter at the provincial capital. The
men called her a "deuced fine little woman." The ladies said she
was "just the sweetest wildflower." Whereas she was really but an
ordinary, pale, dark girl who spoke slowly and with a strong accent,
who danced fairly well, sang acceptably, and never stirred outside
the door without her husband.

Charlie was proud of her; he was proud that she had "taken" so well
among his friend, proud that she bore herself so complacently in
the drawing-rooms of the wives of pompous Government officials, but
doubly proud of her almost abject devotion to him. If ever human
being was worshipped that being was Charlie McDonald; it could
scarcely have been otherwise, for the almost godlike strength of his
passion for that little wife of his would have mastered and melted
a far more invincible citadel than an already affectionate woman's
heart.

Favorites socially, McDonald and his wife went everywhere. In
fashionable circles she was "new"--a potent charm to acquire
popularity, and the little velvet-clad figure was always the centre
of interest among all the women in the room. She always dressed in
velvet. No woman in Canada, has she but the faintest dash of native
blood in her veins, but loves velvets and silks. As beef to the
Englishman, wine to the Frenchman, fads to the Yankee, so are velvet