assed with remarkable swiftness for John
Glenning. He found in Julia a character of unusual charm. She was
unsated with the world, unspoiled by men, unworried by the demands of
society. Her life had been a trifle monotonous, perhaps, but she
possessed the polish which gentle birth and proper environment bestows,
and her ready, bright mind had been led along the channels of the pure
and good only. Her innate womanliness was ever uppermost, never
approaching prudery, but marking unmistakably her speech, gestures and
manners. Soon after their return to the house they had been joined by
Major Dudley, and ere he realized how time had flown the vigorous
ringing of a bell on the side porch made Glenning aware that it was tea
time. It was rather a frugal repast to which he sat down a few moments
later, but the napery was snowy white, and the service of elegant
silver, solid and old. Aunt Frances, in white cap and apron, moved
ponderously about the board in prompt and deft manipulation of dishes,
and to the poor office- and hotel-worn man it was as though he had
accidentally strayed into Paradise. Candles in antique old brass holders
lighted the table, and there was witchery in the misty halo they cast
upon the fresh, lovely face and waving hair of Julia Dudley. She was
happy and bright at tea, striving alike to entertain their guest and to
lift the gloom which had again enveloped the Major. This side of her
father's nature she had seldom seen, and it made her afraid. Should he
grow morose or brooding at his time of life the result would be
disastrous, she knew, and before the meal was finished she made a mental
resolve to bring about that very night the talk which the Major had
promised her the afternoon before. Then she would be the better able to
aid him.

The sun was down when they again came out upon the portico, and twilight
was silently clearing the way for darkness.

"You have been most kind to me," said Glenning, standing bareheaded upon
the low step between the portico pillars. "Your hospitality has been the
best thing I have known for a long time. Let me beg you, Major, not to
let this little affair tonight keep you from sleeping. There is not the
slightest use of anyone being at the smoke-house until after midnight,
and I shall be here not later than twelve. If, however, you would feel
easier to know that a friendly eye was on The Prince, let Peter go.
Remember I consented to your terms readily, and now I implore yo