Excerpt
CHAPTER I THE BLAKE AFFAIR
On a fine morning early in July Mrs. Keith sat with a companion, enjoying the sunshine, near the end of Dufferin Avenue, which, skirts the elevated ground above the city of Quebec. Behind her rose the Heights of Abraham where the dying Wolfe wrested Canada from France; in front, churches, banks, offices and dwellings, curiously combining the old and the very new, rose tier on tier to the great red Frontenac Hotel. It is a picturesque city that climbs back from its noble river; supreme, perhaps, in its situation among Canadian towns, and still retaining something of the exotic stamp set upon it by its first builders whose art was learned in the France of long ago.
From where she sat Mrs. Keith could not see the ugly wooden wharves. Her glance rested on the flood that flowed toward her, still and deep, through a gorge lined with crags and woods, and then, widening rapidly, washed the shores of a low, green island. Opposite her white houses shone on the Levis ridge, and beyond this a vast sweep of country, steeped in gradations of color that ended in ethereal blue, rolled away toward the hills of Maine.
Mrs. Keith and her companion were both elderly. They had played their part in the drama of life, one of them in a strenuous manner, and now they were content with the position of lookers-on. So far, however, nothing had occurred since breakfast to excite their interest.
"I think I'll go to Montreal by the special boat tonight," Mrs. Keith said with characteristic briskness. "The hotel's crowded, the town's full, and you keep meeting people whom you know or have heard about. I came here to see Canada, but I find it hard to realize that I'm not in London; I'm tired of the bustle."
Mrs. Ashborne smiled. She had met Margaret Keith by chance in Quebec, but their acquaintance was of several years' standing.
"Tired?" she said. "That is sorely a new sensation for you. I've often envied you your energy."
Age had touched Mrs. Keith lightly, though she had long been a childless widow and had silvery hair. Tall and finely made, with prominent nose and piercing eyes, she was marked by a certain stateliness and a decided manner. She was blunt without rudeness, and though often forceful was seldom arrogant.
Careless of her dress, as she generally was, Margaret Keith bore the stamp of refinement and breeding, "Ah!" she said; "I begin to feel I'm old. But will you come to Montreal with me to-night?"
"I suppose I'd better, though the boat takes longer than the train, and I hear that the Place Viger is full. I don't know anything about the other hotels; they might not be comfortable."
"They'll no doubt be able to offer us all that we require, and I never pamper myself," Mrs. Keith replied. "In fact, it's now and then a relief to do something that's opposed to the luxuriousness of the age."
'This was a favorite topic, but she broke off as a man came toward her, carrying one or two small parcels which apparently belonged to the girl at his side. He was a handsome man, tall and rather spare, with dark eyes and a soldierly look....