ugh the
dining-room out upon the terrace overlooking the park, where, on warm
mornings, it was their habit to take their coffee in Continental style.

As she went along to where the table was set, little Enid, with her hair
tied at the side with blue ribbon, and wearing a pretty, cotton frock,
came dancing along the terrace, where she was walking with her
governess, crying in her childish voice:

"Good morning, mother, dear. I wish you many happy returns of your
birthday."

"Thank you, darling," replied Jean, catching the child up in her arms
and kissing her, while Miss Oliver, a tall, discreet, and rather prim
person, at that moment came up with a great bunch of fresh roses which
she had just cut for the table.

Bracondale had been absent on official duties at Downing Street for a
week, but had returned by special train from Paddington, arriving at
Torquay at half-past three in the morning. He had indeed placed aside
some most pressing affairs of State in order to spend his wife's
birthday in her company.

And hardly had she kissed her child before he stepped forth from the
dining-room, exclaiming:

"Ah! good-morning, Jean. A very happy birthday, dearest," and bending,
he kissed her fondly, while she returned his caress.

"Gunter told me that you did not get home until nearly four o'clock. You
must be tired," she said.

"No, not very," he laughed. "I had a few hours' sleep in the train. I've
just come down to spend the day with you, dearest. I must get back at
midnight."

"It is really very good of you, dear," she replied. "You know how
pleased we both are to have you at our side, aren't we, Enid?"

"Yes, mother, of course we are," declared the child, as her father bent
to kiss her.

"And now, Jean, I've brought you down a little present, which I hope you
will like. Men are all fools when they buy a present for a woman. But
I've got this little trifle for you as a souvenir."

And placing his hand in the pocket of his dark, flannel jacket, he drew
out a magnificent string of pearls--a gift worth, at the least, fifteen
thousand pounds. Indeed, that was the price he had paid for them to a
dealer in Hatton Garden.

And he had carried them loose in his pocket, leaving the dark green
leather case lying upon the library table.

"Oh, how lovely!" Jean cried, in delight, as she saw them. Her eyes
sparkled, for she had often wished for such a beautiful row. Pretty
things delighted her, just as they delight a c