“I am glad you like it!” said her husband, recovering his good humour on the instant. “Ah! I think the servant has just announced dinner. Come, Nancy mine, let me have the pleasure of leading you to the head of your table.” The dinner passed off somewhat tamely. The dining-room was a long and decidedly sombre apartment. But the Rowtons sat at a cheerful little table at one end, laid with glittering glass and massive plate; it was brought up close to the fire, and was lit by candles with coloured shades over them. The rose coloured light somewhat softened Rowton’s harsh complexion, and cast a fairy-like gleam over Nancy with her golden hair, pale face and soft draperies. Two footmen waited, doing their work noiselessly; the rest of the room was in absolute gloom. Nancy could scarcely tell why she felt a sudden depression. She would not yield to it, however, and struggled hard to keep up the gaiety which she had really experienced not a few minutes ago. When the dessert was on the table she raised her voice somewhat timidly. “May not Murray come in?” she said. “I should like to see him again.” “Tell Master Cameron that dessert is served,” said Rowton, turning to one of the footmen. They both noiselessly left the room and the husband and wife were for a moment alone. “Does Murray live here?” asked Nancy of her husband. “Yes, this is his home. Now, see that you do not spoil him; he is a fine little chap, but the soft ways of a woman about him just now would be his destruction.” “You don’t really mean that, Adrian; surely at Murray’s age more than at any other time, he——” “I differ from you, my love,” said her husband. “Hush!” He interrupted her words: she glanced down the room. Out of the darkness came a high-pitched glad voice, a gay laugh followed, and then the flashing of bright eyes, the charm of a noble little face, and the boy seated himself frankly and confidingly by his new aunt’s side. “I left Roy in the other room,” he said, looking up at her; “I do not want Roy now.” “Have a glass of wine, Murray?” said his uncle. The boy held out his glass, which Rowton filled to the brim. He drank it off and his tongue began to chatter. “I am so glad you have both come back,” he said; “I have been awfully lonely; Mrs. Ferguson is not the best company. Now I expect I shall have a right jolly time. You are going to live here always, are you not, aunt?” “Listen to me, Murray,” said Rowton; “you are not to worry your aunt.” “Oh! he won’t,” said Nance. She took one of the small hands—hard as iron it felt, for the boy was all muscle—and patted it softly. “We won’t worry each other, will we?” said Murray, glancing up at her again and laughing. Rowton gave the pair as they sat thus close together—the very fair young girl, for Nance was nothing more, and the beautiful dark boy—an earnest, penetrating glance. “By Jove!” he said, “I see you are both going to fall in love with each other. Take care both of you; I shall begin to be jealous.”