or, dull old soul! I must go regularly. I must not shirk,"
determined Vanna conscientiously, but she loved her duty none the more.

It was towards the end of her third month's residence at Seacliff that,
on cantering up the drive of the Manor House, Vanna noticed a change in
the position of the white-capped figure. It was there, watching as
usual, but at the side, instead of the centre, of the library window,
and by her stood a tall, dark figure. Vanna's heart leapt within her;
the blood rushed through her veins; in one moment languid indifference
was changed to tingling vitality. She straightened herself on the
saddle, and as Piers's figure appeared in the porch, lifted her
gauntleted hand to her hat in merry salute.

The episode of Jean's marriage, with the association of chief bridesmaid
and groomsman, had brought the two friends of the bride into closer
intimacy, so that the greeting between them was frank and cordial.

"Salaam, Diana!"

"Salaam, oh, Knight of the--!"

Vanna paused, for it was no Knight of the Rueful Countenance who looked
into her face as she drew rein by the door. The dark eyes looking into
hers were alight with pleasure--with something more than pleasure.
Vanna recognised a gleam of surprised admiration and thrilled at the
sight even as it forced itself into words.

"By Jove, how well you are looking."

"Rusticating suits me, you see."

She leapt lightly to the ground, and, gathering up the graceful long
riding-skirt of that day, entered the house before him. As she passed
along the ugly, commonplace hall, Vanna was confronted by her own
reflection in the glass of the old-fashioned hat-stand, and started at
the sight. This was not the girl whom she was accustomed to see in that
same glass--the girl with the pale face, and listless eyes; this girl
walked with a quick, lightsome tread; her daintily poised head, crowned
by the picturesque green hat, assumed a new charm; the grey eyes were
sparkling beneath the arched brows; the cheeks were flushed to the
colour of a wild rose. This was the vision which Piers Rendall had
beheld, the vision at which his hard eyes had softened in admiration.

Vanna blushed at the sight of her own fairness, and felt the thrill of
pure, undiluted joy which every true daughter of Eve knows at such
moments. She tilted her head over her shoulder to answer Piers's
question, with a smile and a glance which would have done credit to Jean
herself. What he a