air
from the table, and walked across the room to the desk where newly-
arrived letters were laid out to await the coming of their owners.
Three white envelopes lay there, and a rolled-up magazine, all addressed
to herself. She flushed expectantly as she bent to examine the
different handwritings. Two were uninterestingly familiar, belonging to
faithful girl friends who had hastened to welcome her home; the third
was unmistakably a man's hand,--small and compact, the letters fine, and
accurately formed.

A blessed intuition told Margot that her waiting was at an end, and that
this was the message for which she had longed ever since her return to
consciousness. With a swift movement she slipped the envelope into her
pocket, to be opened later on in the privacy of her room, and returned
to the table, bearing the other communications in her hand.

"I should have thought that after six weeks' absence from home you might
have been willing to talk to _me_, instead of wanting to read letters at
your very first meal!" said Agnes severely; and Margot laughed in good-
natured assent.

"I won't open them! It was only curiosity to see what they were. I'll
talk as much as you like, Aggie dear."

It was, all of a sudden, so easy to be amiable and unselfish! The
nervous irritation which had made it difficult to be patient, even with
dear, tactful Edie during the last weeks, had taken wing and departed
with the first sight of that square white envelope. The light came back
to Margot's eyes; she held her head erect, the very hollows in her
cheeks seemed miraculously to disappear, and to be replaced by the old
dimpling smile. Mr Vane and Ron exchanged glances of delight at the
marvellous manner in which their invalid had stood the journey home.

The letters and parcel lay unnoticed on the table until the conclusion
of the meal, but as Margot picked them up preparatory to carrying them
upstairs to her own room, she gave a sudden start of astonishment.

"Ron, it's the _Loadstar_! Some one has sent me a copy of the
_Loadstar_. From the office, I think, for the name is printed on the
cover. Who could it be?"

"The Editor, of course--as a mark of attention on your return home.
Lazy beggar! It was easier than writing a letter," laughed Ron easily,
stretching out his hand as he spoke to take forcible possession, for the
magazine was of more interest to himself than to Margot, and he felt
that a new copy was just what was nee