She was spending the afternoon with his mother on the day of his return, and after tea he laid his gifts in triumph before her. Laura could look at such books for their own sake where Mrs. Cloud looked at them for Justin’s; but neither motive mattered at the moment, for Justin was still so delighted with them that at first he would hardly let any one else look at them at all. Laura, over his shoulder, was as unwearied in asking questions as he in answering, and he had more or less unburdened himself, to her intent ears, of all he had seen and learned and adventured, before Mrs. Cloud, verging on impatience with the cool ways of your modern lovers, could find a pause in which to ask about a matter of importance. “And what else did you bring home, Justin?” She had unpacked his bag herself, but it was not there. Her eyes were doubtfully on his slim pockets. He turned over his purchases. “Jones—_Connoisseur_—Cellini——Oh, yes, and there’s a _Punch_ in the hall—” he turned to Laura again: “—as big as a plum—and a colour! In one case alone. Oh, you’ve got to come up with me, Laura. You’ve never seen anything like it. Funny—I’ve passed that room dozens of times and never noticed before. But, of course, I was always after eggs.” Mrs. Cloud gave up trying to lead the conversation where she wanted it to go. She cut across it. “Justin, I’m sure Laura is longing to see her ring.” Justin frowned absently. “Ring? What ring? Oh—the ring! Oh, I say, Laura—I’m awfully sorry! I’m afraid I never gave it another thought.” “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Laura brightly. Mrs. Cloud said nothing emphatically, which disturbed Justin more than any disapproval of Laura’s would have done. He turned blankly from his books. “I shall be up again in a few days,” he assured them. “Or I could write,” he suggested unhappily. He hated writing letters. He paused. He had an inspiration. “I suppose you or Mother wouldn’t be going up?” he wondered hopefully. Mrs. Cloud said nothing more emphatically than ever. “I’ll go straight up again tomorrow,” he decided, an eye on his mother. Laura laughed. “What nonsense! Why, you’re only just back! And I found a corncrake’s nest yesterday. Bother the old ring!” His face cleared. He liked Laura. “Well—if you wouldn’t mind waiting till Tuesday, we might both go up. A corncrake? Which field? Any good for a photograph? The Museum’s shut on Mondays. And then we could choose it together. After all, there’s no hurry, is there?” “Of course not,” said Laura. Mrs. Cloud could have shaken her. They went up together on Tuesday, and, according to both of them, had a ripping time. But when Mrs. Cloud, alone with Laura the next day, took the girl’s two hands in her own, and openly and gravely looked at them, she found the left hand as bare as the right. “Laura!” Mrs. Cloud’s voice implied that she was not at all pleased with Laura. Laura twinkled. “Mrs. Cloud, we were too busy. We had such a glorious day. We hadn’t time, simply.”