And for her sake more than Thea’s he directed the gardener to fill the house with flowers the day of their coming. The halls, the drawing-room, the dining-room, the bedrooms, all blushed with beauty, and gave out a fragrant welcome to Sweetheart when she again crossed the threshold of the grand old home and stood in all her fresh, girlish beauty before the handsome, stately man who smiled a little as she impulsively held out both little hands, but certainly pressed them warmly enough in his as he uttered some cordial phrases of welcome. Thea West gave him a bright, arch look. “You do not mean it, I know,” she said, saucily. “You believe all the bad things the Hintons say about me, and you’re afraid I shall run you crazy with my flirtations. But I sha’n’t. I’ll be good.” He gave her a look in return before which her white lids drooped shyly to her cheeks, then turned to welcome his mother, who thought that Norman certainly seemed younger than when she went away. How kindly, almost fondly, he had welcomed Thea, too. “I hope we shall have time to dress before dinner, Norman, we are so dusty,” she said. “Plenty of time. But do not be long. I shall be impatient,” he answered; and as they went upstairs he turned into the drawing-room to wait. There was an unwonted glow on his smooth, dark cheek, an eager light in the dark eyes. “I have never quite realized that my protégée was a young lady till now,” he mused, dreamily. “But she is as sweet and winning as when a baby. I wonder if she remembers how she used to kiss me?” CHAPTER XXXIV. Norman waited something over half an hour, and found himself growing oddly impatient for his mother’s return. A servant came in and lighted the gas, and then to pass the time away he sat down at the grand piano and began to play some dreamy chords that sounded strange in his own ears, it was so long since he had played before. But he was a little excited over his mother’s home-coming, it seemed. “Oh, Mr. de Vere, you play the piano? I’m so glad!” cried a clear voice, with that indescribable ring of hope and youth in it that is so sweet to world-weary ears. He turned his head. A white figure was coming toward him over the soundless Turkish carpet--Thea, in all the glow of her young beauty, smiling, eager. She came close to his side. She laid her beautiful white hand, dimpled and ringless, on his arm, and said, frankly: “Before I came I was angry with you. I did not care what you thought of me, but I--I have changed my mind. I’m going to tell you the truth in the beginning, for--somehow--I don’t want you to think as badly of me as you seemed to in that letter.” He sat silent, looking into the flushed, eager face, not helping her by a word or even a smile. But Thea went bravely on: