ery which hung
about Dudley, and left it to Doreen and to his father to unravel.

The two young men did not meet again, therefore, until seven that
evening, when they took their seats in the same smoking-carriage. Max
felt quite glad that the presence of a couple of strangers prevented any
talk of a confidential sort between himself and Dudley, who on his side
seemed perfectly contented to puff at his pipe in silence.

Dudley's letter had evidently been received, and well received, for at
the station the two friends found the dog-cart waiting to take them the
mile and a half which lay between the station and The Beeches.

At the house itself, too, the front door flew open at their approach,
and Mr. Wedmore himself stood in the hall to welcome them.

Queenie was there. Mr. Wedmore was there. But there was never a glimpse
of Doreen.

"I got your letter, my dear boy," began Mr. Wedmore, holding out his
hand with so much heartiness that it was plain he was delighted to be
able to forgive his old friend's son, "and I am very glad, indeed, that
you have found your way back to us so soon. I am heartily glad to hear
that the worries which have been making you depressed lately are
over--heartily glad. And so, I am sure," added he, with a significant
smile, "Doreen will be."

"Thank you, sir," said Dudley. "You are very kind, very indulgent. I am
not ungrateful, I assure you."

Max, behind them, was listening with attentive ears. He did not feel so
sure as his father seemed to be that all was now well with Dudley.

"Where's Doreen?" he asked his younger sister.

"Don't know, I'm sure. She's taken herself off somewhere. Probably
somebody else will find her quicker than you will."

The younger sister was right. The younger sister always is on these
occasions.

Within five minutes of his arrival, Dudley found his way into the
breakfast room, where Doreen, a pug dog and a raven were sitting
together on the floor, surrounded by a frightful litter of paper and
shavings and string, wooden boxes, hampers, and odds and ends of cotton
wool.

She just looked up when Dudley came in, gave him a glance and a little
cool nod, and then, as he attempted to advance, uttered a shrill little
scream.

"One step farther, and my wax cupids will be ruined!"

"Wax cupids!" repeated Dudley, feebly.

"Yes, for my Christmas tree. It's to be the greatest success ever known
in these parts, or the greatest failure. Nothing between. That's wh