When Nance entered her drawing-room Rowton was waiting to receive her. He was standing by the hearth. A great fire burned in the grate. Nance, as she entered at the extreme further door, saw a picture which caused her to give an exclamation of fresh delight; she looked down a long vista of lovely furniture, of knick knacks, of small tables, of flowering plants which filled the air with a subtle perfume, and saw her husband’s noble figure in evening dress as he waited for her. She scarcely noticed the dress, but her heart leapt up to receive the smile which shone out of the dark eyes and trembled round the lips. Then her gaze travelled a step further. Close by the man stood someone else—a slender boy, who might have been any age from nine to eleven, dressed picturesquely in black velvet with a Vandyck collar. Each feature of his bold dark face was a counterpart of the dark face of the man who towered above him; by the boy’s side, the boy’s hand resting on his head, was a huge German boarhound, a magnificent creature of perfect breed. “I never told you about this young gentleman, Nance,” said Rowton, coming forward, and holding the boy’s hand as he did so. “Let me introduce you to my nephew, Murray Cameron; he has Scotch blood in him. Make your best bow to your aunt, Murray.” The little chap went forward, giving a low bow. Nancy held out her hand. “Nonsense,” she said, “you need not bow to me, Murray; I am delighted to see you.” She laid her white hand on his shoulder, and bending forward kissed him on his brow just where his clustering curls met the white skin. The boy flushed crimson, raised two splendid dark eyes and looked full up into her face. “Come, come, Murray,” said his uncle, “you can go back now and continue your attentions to Roy; Roy will be jealous; look how he is sniffing your coat.” “Roy has no reason to be jealous,” said the little fellow in a determined, manly voice; “he must be a very silly dog if he supposes I can compare him to a beautiful lady.” Rowton burst into a loud laugh. “Jove! youngster, you are coming on,” he said; “there, you may go now, in any case; you may come to dessert if your eyes remain open long enough.” “I am not likely to sleep,” said the boy. He gave another glance of the broadest admiration at Nancy, and then walked gravely down the room, accompanied by the boarhound. “How is it you never told me about that dear little fellow, Adrian?” said Nancy. Rowton rumpled up his hair with a careless movement. “I forgot his existence,” he said briefly. “Forgot the existence of a splendid boy like that!” said Nancy in astonishment. “Yes, I was occupied with other matters.” For some reason which Nancy could not understand there was annoyance in his tone. With a woman’s tact she hastened to change the subject. “How lovely this room is!” she said; “no wonder you gave me to understand that you would dazzle me some day. I cannot believe that I am really the mistress of this house.”