d that there
were children in the house.

This fact was speedily indicated in another way, for there came a rush
and a scamper overhead, and a boy of five or six years old ran down the
broad oak staircase.

"Oh, father! May I ride round to the stables on Speedwell?" he cried,
in a desperate hurry to attract his father's attention away from the
servant and the portmanteau; then, catching sight of Erica, he checked
himself, and held out his hand with a sort of shy courtesy. He was
exactly what Donovan must have been as a child, as far as looks went.

"To the stables, Ralph?" replied his father, looking round. "Yes, if you
like. Put on your hat though. Where's your mother?"

"In the garden with Mr. Cunningham; he came a few minutes ago; and he's
got such a horse, father! A real beauty just like cocoa."

"A roan," said Donovan, laughing; then, as Ralph disappeared through the
open door, he turned to the servant.

"Is it Mr. Cunningham of Blachingbury?"

"No, sir; Mr. Leslie Cunningham."

Erica listened, not without interest, for she knew that Leslie
Cunningham was the recently elected member for East Mountshire, the
eldest son of Sir Michael Cunningham.

"We must come and find them," said Donovan; and together they went out
into the garden.

Here, on one of the broad, grassy terraces, under the shade of a
copper-beech, was afternoon tea on a wicker table. Gladys was talking to
Mr. Cunningham, but catching sight of her husband and Erica at the other
end of the terrace, she hurried forward to greet them.

"This is delightful!" she exclaimed. "I hoped that Donovan might
unceremoniously carry you off today, but hardly dared to expect it. You
are just in time for tea."

"Your arrival has caused quite a sensation in the nursery," said Donovan
to Leslie Cunningham. "My small boy is in raptures over your horse 'just
like cocoa!'"

Leslie gave rather an absent laugh. He was watching Erica, who was still
at a little distance talking to Gladys.

"May I be introduced to your guest?" he said.

"Certainly," said Donovan. "She is the daughter of Mr. Raeburn."

Leslie started.

"Indeed! I have heard about her from old Bircham, the editor. He can't
say enough of her."

Apparently Leslie Cunningham could not look enough at her.

Donovan, thinking of Brian, was perhaps a little vexed at the meeting.
However, putting himself into his guest's position, he felt that the
admiration was but natural, and as to Brian if he c