The Touch Of Fate
by
Mrs. Major Hill was in her element. This did not often happen, for in the remote prairie town of the Canadian Northwest, where her husband was stationed, there were few opportunities for match-making. And Mrs. Hill was–or believed herself to be–a born matchmaker.
Major Hill was in command of the detachment of Northwest Mounted Police at Dufferin Bluff. Mrs. Hill was wont to declare that it was the most forsaken place to be found in Canada or out of it; but she did her very best to brighten it up, and it is only fair to say that the N.W.M.P., officers and men, seconded her efforts.
When Violet Thayer came west to pay a long-promised visit to her old schoolfellow, Mrs. Hill’s cup of happiness bubbled over. In her secret soul she vowed that Violet should never go back east unless it were post-haste to prepare a wedding trousseau. There were at least half a dozen eligibles among the M.P.s, and Mrs. Hill, after some reflection, settled on Ned Madison as the flower of the flock.
“He and Violet are simply made for each other,” she told Major Hill the evening before Miss Thayer’s arrival. “He has enough money and he is handsome and fascinating. And Violet is a beauty and a clever woman into the bargain. They can’t help falling in love, I’m sure; it’s fate!”
“Perhaps Miss Thayer may be booked elsewhere already,” suggested Major Hill. He had seen more than one of his wife’s card castles fall into heartbreaking ruin.
“Oh, no; Violet would have told me if that were the case. It’s really quite time for her to think of settling down. She is twenty-five, you know. The men all go crazy over her, but she’s dreadfully hard to please. However, she can’t help liking Ned. He hasn’t a single fault. I firmly believe it is foreordained.”
And in this belief Mrs. Hill rested securely, but nevertheless did not fail to concoct several feminine artifices for the helping on of foreordination. It was a working belief with her that it was always well to have the gods in your debt.
Violet Thayer came, saw, and conquered. Within thirty-six hours of her arrival at Dufferin Bluff she had every one of the half-dozen eligibles at her feet, not to mention a score or more ineligibles. She would have been surprised indeed had it been otherwise. Miss Thayer knew her power, and was somewhat unduly fond of exercising it. But she was a very nice girl into the bargain, and so thought one and all of the young men who frequented Mrs. Hill’s drawing-room and counted it richly worth while merely to look at Miss Thayer after having seen nothing for weeks except flabby half-breed girls and blue-haired squaws.
Madison was foremost in the field, of course. Madison was really a nice fellow, and quite deserved all Mrs. Hill’s encomiums. He was good-looking and well groomed–could sing and dance divinely and play the violin to perfection. The other M.P.s were all jealous of him, and more so than ever when Violet Thayer came. They did not consider that any one of them had the ghost of a chance if Madison entered the lists against them.
Violet liked Madison, and was very chummy with him after her own fashion. She thought all the M.P.s were nice boys, and they amused her, for which she was grateful. She had expected Dufferin Bluff to be very dull, and doubtless it would pall after a time, but for a change it was delightful.
The sixth evening after her arrival found Mrs. Hill’s room crowded, as usual, with M.P.s. Violet was looking her best in a distracting new gown–Sergeant Fox afterwards described it to a brother officer as a “stunning sort of rig between a cream and a blue and a brown”; she flirted impartially with all the members of her circle at first, but gradually narrowed down to Ned Madison, much to the delight of Mrs. Hill, who was hovering around like a small, brilliant butterfly.