s it of the
glorious expectation of a mature and perfect love.

"I will go to the post-office myself, Mr. Dalmain," she said. "I shall
be glad of the walk; and I can be back by tea-time."

At the post-office she did not post the word in Garth's handwriting.
That lay hidden in her bosom. But she sent off two telegrams. The first
to

The Duchess of Meldyum,

Palace Hotel, Aberdeen.

"Come here by 5.50 train without fail this evening."

The second to

Sir Deryck Brand,

Wimpole Sheet, London.

"All is right."

CHAPTER XXXV

NURSE ROSEMARY HAS HER REWARD

"Mr. Dalmain," said Nurse Rosemary, with patient insistence, "I really
do want you to sit down, and give your mind to the tea-table. How can
you remember where each thing is placed, if you keep jumping up, and
moving your chair into different positions? And last time you pounded
the table to attract my attention, which was already anxiously fixed
upon you, you nearly knocked over your own tea, and sent floods of mine
into the saucer. If you cannot behave better, I shall ask Margery for a
pinafore, and sit you up on a high chair!"

Garth stretched his legs in front of him, and his arms over his head;
and lay back in his chair, laughing joyously.

"Then I should have to say: 'Please, Nurse, may I get down?' What a
cheeky little thing you are becoming! And you used to be quite
oppressively polite. I suppose you would answer: 'If you say your grace
nicely, Master Garth, you may.' Do you know the story of 'Tommy, you
should say Your Grace'?"

"You have told it to me twice in the last forty-eight hours," said
Nurse Rosemary, patiently.

"Oh, what a pity! I felt so like telling it now. If you had really been
the sort of sympathetic person Sir Deryck described, you would have
said: 'No; and I should so LOVE to hear it!'"

"No; and I should so LOVE to hear it!" said Nurse Rosemary.

"Too late! That sort of thing, to have any value should be spontaneous.
It need not be true; but it MUST be spontaneous. But, talking of a high
chair,--when you say those chaffy things in a voice like Jane's, and
just as Jane would have said them--oh, my wig!--Do you know, that is
the duchess's only original little swear. All the rest are quotations.
And when she says: 'My wig!' we all try not to look at it. It is
usually slightly awry. The toucan tweaks it. He is so very LOVING, dear
bird!"

"Now hand me the buttered toast," said Nurse Rosemary