k and listen to
her, that he sought her company, and even considered himself entitled to
her sympathy. But when on the previous day he had gone so far as to
assert his title in words, he had done so with what seemed to her
remarkable audacity. And, although she had given him permission to come
to her house this morning, she was thinking now whether it would not
have been better if she had suggested the transfer of the volume of
which he spoke at Mrs. Hartley's on the following Sunday, or if she had
made her hint still broader by praising the cheapness and despatch of
the Parcels Delivery Company.

She had done nothing of this kind. She had been neither rude nor
effusive, for it was not in her nature to be either. He was coming "some
time after twelve," and in fact, punctually as the clock struck twelve,
Mr. Alan Walcott was at the door.

Milly announced him demurely. She observed him carefully, however, as
she admitted him into Lettice's room, and studied his card with interest
while carrying it to Miss Campion. No man so young and handsome had ever
called at Maple Cottage in her time before.

Lettice had been sitting with her mother, and she came down to her study
and received her visitor with a frank smile.

"It is really, very kind of you," she said, taking the innocent book
which he held out as a sort of warrant for his intrusion, "to be at all
this trouble. And this is a splendid copy, it reminds me of the volumes
my father used to be so fond of. I will take great care of it. How long
did you say I might keep it?"

"Till you have read it, at any rate. Or till I ask you for it
again--which I don't think I shall. You say that you used to see volumes
like this on your father's bookshelves. I should not wonder if you had
seen this very book there. It is a strange coincidence that I should
have had it in my possession for some time, and yet never noticed until
this morning, when I took it down to bring to you, that it had your name
on the fly-leaf. Look!"

He opened the book and held the fly-leaf against the window. The name
had been rubbed out with a wet finger, after the manner of second-hand
booksellers, but the "Lawrence Campion" was still easily legible.
Lettice could not restrain a little cry of delight.

"Yes, that is his dear handwriting, I know it so well! And this is his
book-plate, too, and his motto--'Vive ut vivas in vitam aeternam.' Oh,
where did you get the book? But I suppose my father's library