"We ought to go back to the house," confesses the mother. "And I dare say you are tired, Floyd?" "I have had a rather fatiguing day," he admits, though he feels as if he could fling himself down on the fragrant grass and stay there all night. It would not be the first time he has slept under a canopy of stars. They retrace their steps, and Mrs. Grandon apologizes to her guest, who is sweetness itself, quite different from the Irene Stanwood of the past. There is a stir, and everybody admits that it is time to retire. Floyd intercepts Laura in the hall, and wonders he has not remarked the flash of the diamond earlier, as she raises her plump hand. "Mother has been telling me," he says, with a wise, curious smile. "Let me congratulate you. To-morrow we will talk it over and arrange everything. I will be your banker for the present. Only--are you quite sure I shall like the young man?" And he holds her in a tender clasp. "You cannot help it! O Floyd, how good you are, and how very, very happy it makes me! I began to feel afraid that I had come under the family ban." "Dismiss all fears." He thinks her a very pretty young girl as she stands there, and he is pleased that his return is bringing forth good fruit so soon. There is a pleasant confusion of good nights and good wishes, the great hall doors are shut, and they all troop up the wide walnut staircase quite as if an evening party had broken up. Floyd Grandon, though not a demonstrative man, lingers to give his mother a parting kiss, and is glad that he has returned to comfort her. CHAPTER II. When a woman has ceased to be quite the same to us, it matters not how different she becomes.--W. S. LANDOR. The house is still. Every one is shut in with his or her thoughts. Floyd Grandon goes to the bed of his little girl, where Jane sits watching in an uncertain state, since everything is so new and strange. How lovely the child is! The rosy lips are parted, showing the pearly teeth, the face is a little flushed with warmth, one pale, pink-tinted ear is like a bit of sculpture, the dimpled shoulder, the one dainty bare foot outside the spread, seem parts of a cherub. He presses it softly; he kisses the sweet lips that smile. Is it really the sense of ownership that makes her so dear?