It was almost the middle of February, and the world was aglow under a spell of warm weather that was quite unseasonable. The garden was riotous with green leaves and early blossoms. Uncle Ran confided to Winthrop that “if you jes’ listens right cahful you can hear the leaves a-growin’ an’ the buds a-poppin’ open, sir!” Winthrop had spent a restless day. Physically he was as well as he had ever been, he told himself; three months at Waynewood had worked wonders for him; but mentally he was far from normal. Of late he had been considering more and more the advisability of returning North. It was time to get back into harness. He had no doubt of his ability to retrieve his scattered fortune, and it was high time that he began. And then, too, existence here at Waynewood was getting more complex and unsatisfactory every day. As far as Miss India’s treatment of him was concerned, he had only cause for congratulation, for his siege of that lady’s heart had been as successful as it was cunning; only that morning she had spoken to him of Waynewood as “your property” without any trace of resentment; but it was very evident that Holly had wearied of him. That should have been salutary knowledge, tending to show him the absurdity and hopelessness of his passion, but unfortunately it only increased his misery without disturbing the cause of it. Yes, it was high time to break away from an ungraceful position, and get back to his own world――high time to awake from dreams and face reality. So his thoughts ran that Saturday afternoon, as he walked slowly out from town along the shaded road. As he came within sight of Waynewood a horse and rider turned in at the gate, and when Winthrop left the oleander path and reached the sun-bathed garden he saw that Julian and Holly were seated together on the porch, very deep in conversation――so interested in each other, indeed, that he had almost gained the steps before either of them became aware of his presence. Holly looked anxiously at Julian. But that youth was on his good behavior. He arose and bowed politely, if coldly, to Winthrop. Something told the latter that an offer to shake hands would not be a happy proceeding. So he merely returned Julian’s bow as he greeted him, remained for a moment in conversation, and then continued on his way up-stairs. Once in his room he lighted a pipe and, from force of habit, sank into a chair facing the empty fireplace. Life to-day seemed extremely unattractive. After ten minutes he arose, knocked out the ashes briskly, and dragged his trunk into the center of the room. He had made up his mind.