Marjorie’s cheeks grew the colour of red roses. And, looking at her, as she sat up in her little white bed, with her auburn hair falling in wild disorder about her shoulders, her sun-kissed arms and neck warm against the white lace of her nightgown, he realised for the first time with something like a shock how very beautiful she was. Being a brother he had taken her for granted. He had only looked at her with a brother’s eyes. Now he saw her as a man sees a woman; young, in the first flush of youth with warm blood in her veins, a body moulded and made for love. "Yes, we do love one another," she whispered. "He wants me to marry him one day, but I haven’t promised yet. Our positions are so different. I’m not good enough for him." Rupert laughed. "You, not good enough!" Marjorie nodded. "That’s just what he said when I told him. But it’s true. I’m only a farmer’s daughter; he’s the son of a gentleman. Don’t say anything more, dear," as Rupert was about to reply. "Time will tell. If we really care for one another we can both wait until we’re quite sure." Bending down Rupert kissed his sister very gently. There were tears in his eyes. He rose from the bed and blew out the candle and the room was in darkness. "To tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit of a rotter since I’ve been in London," he said, finding it easier to speak in the darkness. "Owing to my stupidity and selfishness, I’ve got to go up to town to-morrow, but it will only be for a couple of days, and when I come back I’ll tell you my secret. For I’ve fallen in love, Marjorie. I’m beginning to feel as you do—that I’m not good enough for her.... She’s wonderful." He groped his way towards the door and opened it. "I’m glad, dear," Marjorie whispered. "Good-night." "Good-night," he replied as he shut the door quietly and went to his own room. Perhaps it was true. Marjorie was only the daughter and he the son of a farmer. That was why he had made such a mess of things in London. But his eyes had been opened just in time. Love had opened them. A farmer’s son. But his father’s ambition should be realised. He would learn to be a man and a gentleman. CHAPTER VII. THE VISITORS. It was dark before the West of England express pulled into Paddington Station. Rupert alighted, carrying a suit-case in his hand. He avoided the temptation of taking a taxi-cab, but walked to the underground railway and took a train to Westminster. He was turning over a new leaf, and, though for the moment he had plenty of money, he had made up his mind henceforth not to spend a penny more than was necessary. He had not warned his landlady that he was coming, so he found that she was out and that nothing was ready for him. His rooms looked dusty and uncared-for, the blinds were drawn, the atmosphere was cold and cheerless.