ering sweet kisses as thanks. Later on, the coming of Prince
Charming--a Prince Charming who could be welcomed without a pang, for,
thank God, there were no dark pages in the history of this second Vanna.
Finally a marriage, with its happy bustle of preparation, trousseau
buying, and furnishings, the interests of the young home; children of
the third generation. The future could not be blank with such an
interest as this in prospect!

The church clock at the corner of the street had just struck five as
Vanna knocked at the door of Robert Gloucester's house. It was the
children's hour, when Jean was sure to be found in the den striving to
amuse her three little daughters, while each vied with each other in the
effort to attract the largest share of attention.

They crowded into the hall at the sound of Vanna's patent knock, and
drew her into the room in a clamour of welcome. Each one of the four
had a budget of news to unfold, and was eager, for the privilege of
first innings. Jean made several futile efforts to send the children
back to their several games, but soon abandoned the effort and lay back
comfortably in her chair, content to bide her time. As usual, she was
beautifully dressed, though more simply than of old. In the shaded
lamplight it was impossible to believe that her fortieth birthday was
well in sight. Her soft dark hair was as abundant as ever, and the
thinness of her face seemed but to show more plainly the exquisite
moulding of her features. Vanna glanced at her with the old,
never-dying admiration, as she held her godchild on her knee, and
listened to the eager confidences of her sisters, and Jean smiled back
with affectionate languor. Behind her in a recess of the wall stood a
medley of photographs, large and small: Mr Goring, white-haired and
spectacled, proudly holding his eldest grandchild on his knee; the two
tall, handsome brothers; Robert, with uplifted head and happy, smiling
eyes; baby faces nestled closely together. At her feet in front of the
old brass fender lay Robert's dippers waiting his return, but Jean had
no thought of any of these things. She had an air of snatching the
moment's leisure, as something precious which should not be wasted, and
her eyes showed a dreamy indifference to the children's sallies--an
abstraction which, with juvenile sharpness, they were quick to note.
Vanna was a newcomer, and could always be counted on as an interested
audience; but no normal ch