CHAPTER XX
HER CLINGING ARMS
The ancient capital of Canada—the old gray queen of the mighty St. Lawrence—is a city of many charms and of much stately beauty. Its narrow, climbing streets, with their quaint shops and curious gables, its old market, with chaffering habitant farmers and their wives, are full of living interest. Its noble rock, crowned with the ancient citadel, and its sweeping tidal river, lend it a dignity and majestic beauty that no other city knows; and everywhere about its citadel and walls, and venerable, sacred buildings, there still linger the romance and chivalry of heroic days long gone. But there are times when neither the interests of the living present nor the charms of the romantic past can avail, and so a shadow lay upon Maimie's beautiful face as she sat in the parlor of the Hotel de Cheval Blanc, looking out upon the mighty streets and the huddled roofs of the lower town. She held in her hand an open note.
"It is just awfully stupid," she grumbled, "and I think pretty mean of him!"
"Of whom, may I ask?" said Kate, pausing in her singing, "or is there any need? What says the gallant lieutenant?"
Maimie tossed her the note.
"The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the
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