"Why didn't you tell me this morning?" she said. "Why did you forget? I spent a day of hope, and now--now----" Her eyes filled with sudden tears, she bit her lips and turned away. Her action, which seemed almost pettish, annoyed Quentyns. "You needn't cry," he said. "I never supposed you could be so childish. Do you think I forgot on purpose? I was looking forward to my time at Richmond, but it slipped my memory that this was the day. You needn't cry, however, for if you have suddenly taken such a frantic desire for my society, it is at your service. I shall go out and wire to Danvers, and be back again in half an hour." After all, Mrs. Quentyns had plenty of self-control. The annoyance and distress in her voice had altogether left it when she spoke again. "Of course you must go, Jasper," she said. "You don't suppose for a quarter of an instant that I should stand in your way. Let me go up with you and help you to put the things you want into a bag, and you will want some tea before you start. I'll ring and tell Susan to prepare it. Now come along, dear; I'm glad of course that you are having this pleasure." As Hilda ran upstairs her manner was once more quite cheerful. Quentyns, however, whose conscience was smiting him, although he didn't know it, could not help acting more or less like a bear with a sore head. "I shouldn't have accepted the invitation," he said, "upon my word I shouldn't, did I not know that you would have Judy to keep you company. You know I haven't that passion for children you have, and----" The door was closed behind the two. "Don't say any more," said Hilda, in a frightened sort of voice. "I told you I was glad that you were to have the pleasure. Now which bag will you take? Will the small Gladstone be large enough?" Ten minutes later Quentyns had left the house in a hansom, and Hilda went up to Judy's room. "Come downstairs, darling," she said, "we are to have another long evening all to ourselves. What a good thing I've got my sweet little sister to stay at home with me. Judy, this was to be a festive night, and I had quite a festive dinner prepared. Suppose we keep the occasion, although we are only to be by ourselves. You shall dine with me to-night, Judy, and we'll both dress for dinner. You shall wear white, for you look so sweet in white, and I'll do the same." "Have you got the old India muslin dress that you used to wear at the Rectory before--before there was a Jasper?" said Judy, in a queer, steady kind of little voice. "If you have that old India muslin that father loved and Aunt Marjorie loved, and that Babs and I used always to say you looked like an angel in, will you put it on to-night, Hilda?--will you wear that dress once again?"