in conventionality.

"We've had a capital journey down, haven't we, Cecily? And I'm awfully
hungry. What time is it?"

Mason was rubbing his hands in the doorway.

"Dinner's ordered at eight, sir," said he.

"And it's half-past seven now. Just time to wash our hands. No dress
to-night, you know."

"I'll go to my room," said Cecily. "Will you come with me, Mina?"

A glance from Harry made the Imp excuse herself. "I'll keep Mr Neeld
company," she said.

Cecily turned to her husband. She smiled and blushed a little.

"I'll take you as far as your room," said he.

Mina and Neeld watched them go upstairs; then each dropped into a chair
in the hall. Mason passed by, chuckling to himself; Neeld looked
harmless, and he dared to speak to him.

"Well, this is the next best thing to Mr Harry coming back to his own,
sir," said he.

That was it. That was the feeling. Mason had got it!

"I'm glad of it after all," Neeld confessed to Mina.

"Wait, wait!" she urged, sitting straight in her chair, apparently
listening for any sound. Her obvious anxiety extended its contagion to
him; he understood better how nice the issue was.

"Will you come in the garden with me after dinner?" asked Harry, as
Cecily and he went upstairs.

"Of course--when they've gone."

"No, directly. I want to say a word to you."

"We must escape then!" she laughed. "Oh, well, they'll expect that, I
suppose." Her delight in her love bubbled over in her laugh.

They came to the door of her room, and she stopped.

"Here?" asked Harry. "Yes, it was my mother's room. You reign now in my
mother's stead."

His voice had a ring of triumph in it. He kissed her hand. "Dinner as
soon as you're ready," said he.

She laughed again and blushed as she opened the door and stood holding
the handle.

"Won't you come in--just for a minute, Harry? I--I haven't changed this
room at all."

"All is yours to change or to keep unchanged," said he.

"Oh, I've no reason for changing anything now. Everything's to be put
back in the Long Gallery!" She paused, and then said again, "Won't you
come in for just a minute, Harry?"

"I must go back to our friends downstairs," he answered.

The pretext was threadbare. What did the guests matter? They would do
well enough. It had cost her something to ask--a little effort--since
the request still seemed so strange, since its pleasure had a fear in
it. And now she was refused.

"I ask you," she said, with a sudden ha