nice girl. She has got
brothers and sisters at home, and she tells me about them when you are
out. I am never lonely; I couldn't possibly be sad in the same house
with you. If I saw you once or twice a day it would be enough for me--it
would really."

"My dear little pet," laughed Hilda, "how solemnly you are talking, what
a frightfully earnest tone has got into your voice, and how you are
puckering your poor little forehead. I have only one thing to say in
reply to your generous wish to leave me so much by myself, namely, that
I should find it extremely inconvenient and extremely lonely to have you
in the house and only see you twice a day."

"But suppose I weren't with you at all, Hilda--suppose I were still at
the Rectory."

"That would be different," said Hilda, in a light tone; "you would be in
your natural home, and I----"

"But you _would_ be lonely if I were away from you, Hilda; do say you'd
be fearfully lonely!"

The passion in Judy's voice was unnoticed by Hilda.

"I'd miss you, of course, my pet," she said; "but I do declare that
stupid driver is taking us wrong. Oh, if he goes up that way it will be
such a round that I shall be late for Jasper's dinner. Poke your parasol
through the little window in the roof, Judy, and stop him, do."

Judy obeyed, the driver received his directions in due course, and a
moment or two later Hilda and Judy were standing in the little hall at
Philippa Terrace. Quentyns came suddenly forward.

"Why, Jasper, you have come back already," said the wife. "It isn't five
yet, but I--I can dress in no time. Have you got the tickets?--where are
we going?"

"Come into the drawing room, Hilda, I want to say a word to you," said
Quentyns.

"Run upstairs and take your things off, Judy," said Hilda. She followed
her husband into the little drawing room and shut the door. "Well?" she
said. Her voice was still gay, but a little, just a little, of the old
fear was creeping back into her heart.

"I am ever so sorry, Hilda, to disappoint you," said Quentyns, "but when
I went to town this morning I absolutely forgot an engagement I made a
week ago. I have to go down with two or three men to Richmond. We are to
dine at the Star and Garter, and afterward Philip Danvers has asked me
to go home with him. The Danvers are charming people--have a beautiful
house on the river, and everything in the best possible style. I should
rather like to cultivate them. It is never a good plan to throw