as they never had been before, except once; her face was not
pale, but full of soft color, as if she were standing beneath the shadow
of a mighty rose-leaf with the sunlight above. Her neck and arms were of
the same delicate tinge. Her smile she gave as she surveyed herself was
a smile of triumph, very different from the expression on poor Phyllis'
features as she flung her hat across the room.

"Mine, mine, mine!" she whispered, nodding with a smile at the lovely
thing so full of warm life that faced her with a smile. "He is mine--he
has come back to me, I will keep him. I shall be able to keep him, I
think."

She had scarcely entered the drawing room before he was beside her,
and he had scarcely entered before a servant announced that dinner was
served. They were seated at the dinner table before they had exchanged
half a dozen words--before she had time to ask him why he had returned.

And at the table, with a servant at each end, what could they say?

Well, she gave in detail, with the accuracy of a railway time-table, the
hours of the departure of the various guests, down to the last departed
guest, who chanced to be Miss Ayrton. Yes, she was obliged to go up to
town to be present at that important function which was to be given in
the presence of Royalty, though, she, Mrs. Linton, was convinced that
Phyllis would much prefer remaining in the midst of that exquisite
quietude which seemed to be found only up the river. She had wanted her
dear Phyllis to stay until the morrow, but poor Phyllis' sense of duty
had been, as unfortunately it always was, too great for her inclination.

"Unfortunately?" said Herbert.

"Did I say unfortunately?" she cried. "How funny! I meant of course,
unfortunately for her friends--for myself in this particular case.
But, after all, we had a delightful week together. It has done us all
good--even you."

"Why the 'even'?" he asked, with a laugh.

"Oh, well, because you are not expected to feel the fatigues of a London
season. And then you must remember that you had a yachting cruise which
must have done you a world of good," she added, with a smile born of the
mood which was on her--a mood of joy and laughter and daring. She felt
that she could say anything she pleased to say to him now; she could
have referred with a laugh to his running away on that strange cruise of
his.

"Yes," he said, "it did me a great deal of good."

He spoke slowly, and her quick ear detected a tone of