lid's progress was slow but sure. In another day or two Olivia was
able to go home for an hour or two to have dinner with Marcus and give
Martha directions; but while the night-work continued it was impossible
for her to leave. And it was arranged that Dot was to remain at
Galvaston House for the present.

Greta had written to beg for an extension of her visit. "She is such a
darling, and I shall be so delighted to have her," she wrote. "She
will not be at all in the way," and indeed Dot ruled royally over the
household.

She and Mr. Gaythorne became great friends. "Great dada," as she
called him, took a good deal of notice of the pretty, golden-haired
child who played at his feet for hours, and Eros was devoted to her.

Alwyn's first work when he returned was to paint a large picture of Dot
in her cream-coloured smock, hanging a withered garland round the neck
of the blind hound.

"Friends" he called it.

Olivia was able to spend an hour or two at Galvaston House the day
after the young couple returned.

She found them in the studio with Dot and Eros. Alwyn was looking well
and handsome, and Greta's sweet face wore an expression of gentle
content. She carried Olivia off at once to the morning-room to have a
chat, as she said, looking archly at her husband. And though Alwyn
professed to grumble at the desertion, he was too busy stretching his
canvas for the new picture to resent it.

"Let me know when tea is ready," he called after them, and then they
heard him whistling in his usual light-hearted fashion.

"I need not ask you if you are happy, Greta," were Olivia's first
words, and then a charming blush crossed the young bride's face.

"No, indeed! Oh, Olive, he is so good to me; if you only knew how he
studies all my wishes. It was like a dream yesterday coming to this
beautiful home. And then Mr. Gaythorne's delight at getting his son
back. Oh, it was so touching to see them together. Alwyn wants me to
call him 'Father,'" she continued, shyly. "He says it will please him
so, so I must try to do it. You know I always called my own father
dad. Now tell me about dear Mrs. Broderick. Poor Olive, what a time
you have had; and you are looking so pale and tired." And then Olive
poured out her anxieties and past troubles into Greta's sympathising
ears.

"She is very weak still," she finished. "Dr. Randolph thinks it will
be some time before she will be able to leave her bed. I have found
such