very odd," he said; "I thought you knew that your father was
going to ask me down. I returned from London with him."

"From London," she murmured. "I did not know; Elizabeth did not tell me
anything about it. I suppose that she forgot."

"Here I am at any rate, and how are you?"

"Oh, well now, quite well. There, I am all right again. It is very wrong
to frighten people in that way, Mr. Bingham," she added in her usual
voice. "Let me pass through the gate and I will shake hands with
you--if," she added, in a tone of gentle mockery, "one may shake hands
with so great a man. But I told you how it would be, did I not, just
before we were drowned together, you know? How is Effie?"

"Effie flourishes," he answered. "Do you know, you do not look very
grand. Your father told me that you had a cold in the winter," and
Geoffrey shivered as he thought of the cause.

"Oh, thank you, I have nothing to complain of. I am strong and well. How
long do you stay here?"

"Not long. Perhaps till Tuesday morning, perhaps till Monday."

Beatrice sighed. Happiness is short. She had not brought him here, she
would not have lifted a finger to bring him here, but since he had come
she wished that he was going to stay longer.

"It is supper time," she said; "let us go in."

So they went in and ate their supper. It was a happy meal. Mr. Granger
was in almost boisterous spirits. It is wonderful what a difference the
possession of that two hundred pounds made in his demeanour; he seemed
another man. It was true that a hundred of it must go in paying debts,
but a hundred would be left, which meant at least a year's respite for
him. Elizabeth, too, relaxed her habitual grimness; the two hundred
pounds had its influence on her also, and there were other genial
influences at work in her dark secret heart. Beatrice knew nothing of
the money and sat somewhat silent, but she too was happy with the wild
unreal happiness that sometimes visits us in dreams.

As for Geoffrey, if Lady Honoria could have seen him she would have
stared in astonishment. Of late he had been a very silent man, many
people indeed had found him a dull companion. But under the influence
of Beatrice's presence he talked and talked brilliantly. Perhaps he was
unconsciously striving to show at his very best before her, as a man
naturally does in the presence of a woman whom he loves. So brilliantly
did he talk that at last they all sat still and listened to him, and
they might