From the pavilion outside came the lilt of the fiddle and the rhythmic steps of the dancers.
There was a little disturbance among a group of boys crowded about the door; a young fellow pushed through and halted on the threshold, looking about him rather sombrely.

It was Jack Elliott from over-harbour--a McGill medical student, a quiet chap not much addicted to social doings.

He had been invited to the party but had not been expected to come since he had to go to Charlottetown that day and could not be back until late.

Yet here he was--and he carried a folded paper in his hand.
Gertrude Oliver looked at him from her corner and shivered again.

She had enjoyed the party herself, after all, for she had foregathered with a Charlottetown acquaintance who, being a stranger and much older than most of the guests, felt himself rather out of it, and had been glad to fall in with this clever girl who could talk of world doings and outside events with the zest and vigour of a man.