"DEAR TOM,--I am coming to town to spend a week with them in
Eaton Square. Call on me to-morrow at twelve, or, if you are
engaged then, between three and five. I have no time to add more
now, but long to see you.

Your loving cousin,

KATIE

"P.S.--I will give you your parcel back to-morrow, and then you
can _burn_ the contents yourself, or do what you like with them.
Uncle bids me say he shall be glad if you will come and dine
to-morrow, and any other day you can spare while I am here."

When he had read the note, East got up and shook hands heartily
with Tom, and then sat down again quietly to finish his cheroot,
watching with a humorous look his friend's march.

"And you think it is really all right now?" Tom asked, in one
form or another, after every few turns; and East replied in
various forms of chaffing assurance that there could not be much
further question on the point. At last, when he had finished his
cheroot, he got up, and, taking his candle, said, "Good night,
Tom; when that revolution comes, which you're always predicting,
remember, if you're not shot or hung, you'll always find a roost
for you and your wife in New Zealand."

"I don't feel so sure about the revolution now, Harry."

"Of course you don't. Mind, I bargain for the dinner in Eaton
Square. I always told you I should dine there before I started."

The next day Tom found that he was not engaged at twelve o'clock,
and was able to appear in Eaton Square. He was shown up into the
drawing-room, and found Katie alone there. The quiet and coolness
of the darkened room was most grateful to him after the glare of
the streets, as he sat down by her side.

"But Katie," he said, as soon as the first salutations and
congratulations had passed, "how did it all happen? I can't
believe my senses yet. I am afraid I may wake up any minute."

"Well, it was chiefly owing to two lucky coincidences; though no
doubt it would have all come right in time without them."

"Our meeting the other day in the street, I suppose, was one of
them?"

"Yes. Coming across you so suddenly, carrying the little girl,
reminded Mary of the day when she sprained her ankle, and you
carried her through Hazel Copse. Ah, you never told me _all_ of
that adventure, either of you."

"All that was necessary, Katie."

"Oh! I have pardoned you. Uncle saw then that she was very much
moved at something, and guessed well enough what it was. He is so
very kind, and so fond