She held out her hand, gently imperious, and Gloucester mutely returned the rose. He could do no less; but his air was so discouraged, so out of all proportion abashed, that the girl felt a swift remorse. It was like disappointing an eager child, and watching the shadowing of the happy face. Now it was not her own wish, but simply the presence of onlookers which prevented the refusal from being changed into consent. She laid the recovered flower on the table beside the fragrant bowl of roses, almost disliking it for having been the cause of this check in the conversation. Her eyes softened, she smiled into Gloucester's troubled face with her sweetest, most childlike expression, and prattled dainty nonsense, unchecked by his lack of response. Presently he began to smile; it was impossible to resist Jean when she set herself to charm, but once and again the murmured answers missed the point, and she was conscious that, though his thoughts were absorbed in herself, he was paying scant heed to her words. The mysterious nervousness which had affected her at his first gaze returned to Jean once more in the process of this one-sided conversation; she turned her head to where the three ladies were sitting, and met Edith Morton's eyes fixed upon herself with an intensity of scrutiny which aroused a quick suspicion. Edith did not care to see her guest monopolised; she was not content to be banished to the end of the room. Jean smiled and raised her voice, addressing her directly by name, so as to show her desire for a general conversation. "I have been telling Mr Gloucester, Edith, that when I was very good you used to read me extracts from his letters, and thrill me by repeating his adventures. They were such nice, full, detaily letters. I think you would get a prize in a foreign correspondence competition, Mr Gloucester. Most men write such scrappy notes." "Ah, I should have been ungrateful if I had done that, for Edith sent me such splendid letters from home. No one knows how a fellow appreciates letters when he is abroad--a blank mail is a blighting experience. Edith has been a brick to me in that way; as good as any sister." He smiled at the girl as he spoke, and Edith Morton smiled bravely back. Gloucester saw nothing strained or unnatural in that smile, but the three women divined its secret with lightning intuition. Poor Edith who had watched and waited all these years, counting each day as it passed, enduring a grey present in the hope of a golden future which would surely begin when the Prince returned to his own. And now her long wish was fulfilled--her hero was restored to her side, not unconscious of her care, but full of gratitude and affection. He smiled at her with kindly eyes, he paid her public thanks, he compared her to a sister, and Edith's heart cramped with despair.