choice of hats
in which to do so had been a matter of the utmost importance.

They were told that Mr. Gray had gone out of town, that Mrs. Gray was
not yet awake and followed the butler upstairs to the drawing-room with
a distinct sense of disappointment. The room still quivered under the
emotion of Gilbert Palgrave.

Rather awkwardly they waited to be alone. Butlers always appear to
resent the untimely visitation of relations. Sunlight poured in through
the windows. It was a gorgeous morning.

"Well," said George Harley, "I've seen my brokers and can do nothing
more to-day. Let the child have her sleep out. I'm just as happy to be
here with you, Lil, as anywhere else." And he bent over his wife as if
he were her lover, as indeed he was, and kissed her pretty ear. His
clothes were very new and his collar the shade of an inch too high for
comfort and his patent leather shoes something on the tight side, but
the spirits of the great lovers had welcomed him and were unafraid.

He won a most affectionate and grateful smile from the neat little lady
whose brown hair was honestly tinged with white, and whose unlined face
was innocent of make-up. Mrs. Harley had not yet recovered from her
astonishment at having been swept to the altar after fifteen years of
widowhood by this most simple and admirable man. Even then she was not
quite sure that she was not dreaming all this. She patted his big hand
and would have put her head against his chest if the brim of her hat
had permitted her to do so.

"That's very sweet of you, Geordie," she said. "How good you are to me."

He echoed the word "Good!" and laughed and waved his hands. It was the
gesture of a man whose choice of ready words was not large enough to
describe all that he longed and tried to be to her. And then he stood
back with his long legs wide apart and his large hands thrust into his
pockets and his rather untidy gray head stuck on one side and studied
her as if she were a picture in a gallery. He looked like a great big
faithful St. Bernard dog.

Mrs. Harley didn't think so. He seemed to her to be the boy of whom she
had dreamed in her first half-budding dreams and who had gone wandering
and come under the hand of Time, but remained a boy in his heart. She
was glad that she had made him change his tie. She loved those deep
cuts in his face.

"Very well, then," she said. "Although it is twelve o'clock I'll let
her sleep another half an hour." And then she stop