he and Malcolm had already met. Cedric had
spent a night at Cheyne Walk before going down to the Wood House, and
had extracted from his friend a reluctant promise that he would come
down as early in the week as possible. Malcolm's assurance that he
could only spare two nights was treated by the young matron with
incredulity.

"Look here, Herrick," he returned in a lordly manner, "it is no good
putting on side with me. You may be a brilliant essayist, as that
fellow called you, and a tiptop literary swell, but you are not going
to chuck up old friends in this fashion. You are going to pay us a
decent visit, or your humble servant will kick up no end of a shindy."
But to all this Malcolm turned a deaf ear. He repeated gravely that his
engagements would only allow him to sleep two nights at the Wood House;
and as Malcolm had made the engagements himself for the express purpose
of shortening his visit, he probably knew best.

Cedric grumbled a good deal, and used some strong language, but he
quieted down after a time, and they went on with their conversation;
for Cedric had a plan in his head, and he wanted his friend's advice
and co-operation. As Malcolm listened, he wondered what Dinah would
think of her boy. Cedric looked at least two or three years older; he
was broader, stronger, and Malcolm even fancied he had gained an inch
in height; he was certainly a magnificent specimen of an athletic young
Englishman.

He had always been handsome, but in Malcolm's opinion he had never
appeared to greater advantage than now. His skin was slightly tanned by
sun and wind, and his hair had darkened a little; he had lost the
expression of weak irresolution which had marred his face, and he had
evidently grown in manliness and self-restraint. His manner was still
boyish at times, and Malcolm was glad to hear the old ringing laugh.
Cedric's wound had been deep, but it was not incurable--time and change
of scene had been potent factors in the cure. Malcolm listened with a
great deal of interest to the scheme that Cedric intended to lay before
his sisters.

It appeared that in the Bavarian highlands he had stumbled across an
old school-fellow, Harry Strickland.

"We were chums at Haileybury," went on Cedric. "Harry was always a good
sort; but his people sent him to Cambridge, so I lost sight of him. I
knew his father was dead and that an uncle had offered him a home--his
mother had died when he was quite a little chap, and he had