“_Quelle Sirène!_” cried Mme. Popea, in wicked exultation. The next to come was Raine Chetwynd. The old man went to the railway-station in the morning to meet him, and bore him back in triumph. “Oh, Raine, my dear, dear boy,” he said, watching him consuming the coffee and _petit pain_ he had ordered up to his room, “you can't tell how I have longed to see you again.” “Well, you shall not exile yourself any longer,” said Raine, heartily. “I am going to carry you back to Oxford. The place is a howling wilderness without you. If I could remember the names of all who sent appealing messages to you, it would be a list as long as Leporello's. And you mustn't live away from me again, dad.” “No,” replied the old man; “but you see I couldn't have done this work as well in Oxford, could I?” “It's a noble work,” said Raine, with the scholar's instinct. “Yes,” replied the old man with a sigh; “it wanted doing, it wanted doing. And I think I have done it very well.” “I must overhaul your scrip, while I am here. Let me have a look at it.” “Don't bother about it yet, my boy. Finish your coffee. Let me ring for some more. You must be tired after your long journey.” “Tired?” laughed Raine. “Oh dear no, and I can go on quite well till breakfast. I only want to see what kind of stuff you have been doing since I have been away.” The professor went to his drawer and pulled out the manuscript, his heart glowing at Raine's loving interest in his work--a never-failing source of pride and comfort. “Here it is, nearly finished.” Raine took the scrip from him and turned over the pages, with a running commentary on the scope within which the subject was treated. At last he uttered an exclamation of surprise, laid the book on his knee and looked up at his father. “Hullo! what is all this?” The old man peeped over his shoulder. “That is my secretary's writing,” he explained; “Miss Graves, you remember her, don't you?” “Of course; but--” “Well, she will insist upon it, Raine; she comes in for a couple of hours a day. It pleases her, really, and I can't help it.” “What a dear little soul she must be,” said Raine. “Ah! she is, my boy; every day she seems to wind a fresh thread round my heart. We shall have to take her back to Oxford with us, eh, Raine?” He laughed softly, took up the manuscript and put it tenderly away again in the drawer, while Raine lit his pipe. The latter did not suspect the hint that his father had meant to convey, but he took advantage of the short pause that followed to change the conversation. It was Mme. Boccard's arrangement that Raine should take Katherine's place next to his father, and thus have her as his neighbour. It would disappoint M. le Professeur if he were separated from his _petite amie_, Miss Graves, and she was sure that Mrs. Stapleton would not mind. “Make any arrangement you please,” Katherine had replied, with some demureness.