"Remember Miles? I should think I did, and the many things he has forgiven me when I was a boy," he said warmly. A gleam of pleasure lighted the butler’s furrowed countenance. "I have had a deal of experience of boys," he said, somewhat sententiously, "having five young masters of my own, and I know what is natural to them, and only right, and what is wrong." "And I was only natural, was I?" Paul laughingly asked. "Yes, sir," Miles answered stolidly. Hazel, who had gone in quest of her mother, soon returned with Helen. "I am very glad to see you, Paul," Mrs. Le Mesurier said simply, regarding him with something of her daughter’s direct gaze. "You are ’Paul’ still, I hope?" "If you will—if you please," he returned earnestly, and it suddenly occurred to the young man that Hazel had not named him at all. He remarked little change in Mrs. Le Mesurier, save that she appeared to him more frail, perhaps, and the blue eyes seemed almost grey, as though the tears of her great grief had faded them. "We have much to tell you of Vivian," she observed, as they seated themselves and Hazel made tea. "You know what a student he was, but he always found time to come to us, and always welcomed my children to his house. Indeed, they had the run of it at all times," she added. "I often feared it must inconvenience him." "It was his greatest happiness," Paul said simply. "He frequently mentioned the boys and—and your daughter in his letters to me, and how their presence enlivened the old home." "Poor Vivian!" Helen murmured. "He missed you sadly, Paul; but he always confessed that things were best as they were; that he would not have you home to pine in idleness." She related many anecdotes of his brother that she knew would cheer Paul, and they fell to talking over old reminiscences, presently coming back to the topics of to-day, and the existing state of affairs; and Paul was soon laying before Helen a plan of his own sudden devising. "Why should not Hugh come to me for a while as my secretary?" he asked. "If he does not care for the work, after giving it a trial, he can continue his search in the City." "I don’t want to seem conceited," Hazel broke in upon the conversation. She was seated near her mother on a low stool, chin in hand, deeply interested in all that passed. "I don’t want to seem conceited," she said modestly, "but I can’t help thinking that you had better have _me_. One often hears of lady secretaries," she went on, in expostulation at the smile upon her mother’s face, a smile that Paul’s countenance reflected; "it would be delightful, and you would not mind how I dressed, would you?" she added, turning eagerly to Paul. "You would let me have my hair down, and let me wear what I liked, provided I came punctually at the hours you named, and did the work properly."