IT was spring at last. The winter had been a cold and late one; now with a rush of warm bright weather every tree and bush was waking into life. Adrienne, with her hands full of daffodils, was filling great bowls upon the wide window-sills. She was always down in the morning long before her uncles, and had been out in the garden rifling the beds beneath the windows of their golden treasures. Softly singing to herself as she arranged the flowers to her liking, she did not hear the entrance of the General or of Drake with the postbag. "Here, Adrienne, you take the cake! Five, as I'm a sinner, a budget of circulars for Derrick, and the usual execrable bills for me!" General Chesterton was practically well again, but he had not been allowed to hunt in spite of his agonized entreaties. His doctor warned him that the slightest strain put upon his injured leg might mean weeks of confinement again to his room. So he made the best of it, and occupied himself by superintending the young gardener, and arranging with him the order in which the vegetable garden was to be sown. Occasionally he would shout for Adrienne to come and help him over some knotty point. She never failed him. Now, she held out her hands for her letters. "I shall never get too old to love the post," she said. "It's the one thing that prevents monotony: one from Phemie—a recipe I wanted—one from my dressmaker, one from May Edginton who's in Venice, a bill from the library, and—" She paused, holding a letter in her hand and scrutinizing it closely. "Now I wonder," she went on, "who writes to me in such a small black dashing hand. Postmark—London. It's from a man, I'm sure." "Women are the rummiest lot," observed the General, looking at her; "why waste wonder and time in turning a letter over and over before you open it?" Adrienne did not hear him. She had slowly opened her letter, and was now deep in its contents. Then she looked up and sighed: "It's very extraordinary. I felt something would happen to-day, something unexpected, and now this has come." She handed her letter over to the General, who took it, and with a frowning brow read as follows:— "DEAR MISS CHESTERTON,— "Your aunt, my stepmother, badly wants you. Why not give her the pleasure of your society if even for a few weeks? I expect by this time that the circumstances which prevented your going to her a month ago have changed. "I shall be returning to France on the 18th of this month and we could travel over together. "Perhaps I could run down and persuade you to do this kindness for an invalid relative. Could you put me up for a night if I did so? "Will this next Thursday suit you? I expect my stepmother's brothers will be glad to hear the latest account of her. "Yours sincerely— "GUY DE BEAUDESSERT."