ace with a pretty, good-tempered
smile and kind, gentle eyes; a face that little children smiled
back at, and which invalids loved to see bending over them. But the
looking-glass did not tell Denys anything of all that.

Upstairs in the so-called spare-room where Tony slept, Charlie was
standing at the tall dressing chest trying to describe Denys to his
mother.

"I have got the berth I came for," he wrote, "I'll tell you all about
it when I come, and I have got Denys! I'm so happy, mother darling,
I can't write about it, but she is the prettiest, dearest, sweetest
girl, and I know you'll love her."

He could not think of any more to say and he fastened his letter and
opened his door a crack. Seeing a light still in the hall, he crept
downstairs to find Conway just locking up. He held up his letter with
a smile.

"The midnight post?" asked Conway, "not a love letter already!"

"It's to mother," answered Charlie simply.

"I'll show you the way," said Conway politely. "I have my latch-key
and it's a lovely night."

It was not far to the post office, and the two young men walked there
and back again in silence. Conway, always a silent boy, could think of
nothing to say. He felt towards this stranger who, twenty-four hours
ago, had been nothing but a name to him, as he might feel towards a
burglar who had just stolen his greatest treasure, and who yet had to
be treated with more than mere politeness because he now belonged
to the family--a combination of feelings which did not tend towards
speech.

But Charlie was too engrossed in his happiness to heed either silence
or conversation. His mind was busily planning out trains and times for
the next day's journey home. What would be the last possible minute
that he could give himself at Old Keston?

They reached the house and Conway opened the door with his key and
held out his hand.

"Good-night," he said.

Charlie's handshake was a hearty one.

"Good-night!" he said. "Good-night! How long do you reckon it takes to
walk to the station?"

Conway smiled to himself as he put up the bolts.

"I wonder," thought he, "I wonder if my turn will ever come!"

CHAPTER II.

LOVE AND MONEY.

"I think," said Charlie, looking across the luncheon table at Mrs.
Brougham. "I think that in about five weeks I could get a Friday to
Monday, and come down if you will let me----"

"Why, certainly," answered Mrs. Brougham, smiling back at the bright
open face opposite h