Before I had got to the bottom of the stairs, I met a nursing Sister, evidently on her way to the sick room. She stood aside to let me pass, and it comforted me to feel that Monsieur Léon would not long be left alone. The world scarcely seemed to be like itself when I came out into Soho Square again. There had been something dreamy and romantic in the poor Frenchman's talk, and it was strange to find myself out in the fresh spring air with the guitar in my arms. A small boy called a hansom for me, and I went rattling home through the work-a-day streets, half sad and half glad, holding fast to my new possession. What would Ronald say when he saw me coming into his room? I had been away quite a long while, and he would be tired of lying still and waiting for my return. The cab set me down in Chapel Place, and I let myself in with a latch-key. In the next minute, I entered the parlour, triumphantly bearing the guitar, and found myself face to face with my husband. He was dressed, and lying on the sofa, looking just a little inclined to find fault with everybody, and with me in particular. "I didn't think you would have got up," I began in a tone of apology. "Why not? I felt quite well enough, and nurse helped me. I've had enough of bed, I can assure you. Your shopping seems to have taken a whole morning! What have you there? A guitar?" "Yes, Ronald. I suppose nurse has told you that yours is broken. This is another that I have got to-day." "Dear little woman!" cried the poor fellow, brightening. "I was afraid you would say that we could not afford another. Where did you buy it? How much did you give? I wish I had tried it before it was bought." "Supposing it isn't bought at all?" I said, putting Monsieur Léon's treasure into the eager hands outstretched to receive it. "Oh, then I suppose you have only borrowed it!" He swept his fingers across the strings, and a sudden look of pleasure flashed into his face. "It is very good—better than mine, Louie. Do they want much money for it?" "Who are 'they'?" I demanded, provokingly. "Ah, Ronald, I won't tantalise you any more! The guitar is yours, really yours; and there is nothing to pay for it." "You are a little witch," said my husband. "Go and take off that shabby old bonnet of yours, and then come here and tell me all about it." The bonnet was shabby; I knew that well enough; and I knew, too, that it would be a long time before I could get a fresh one. But the "outward adorning" did not occupy my mind just then, nor did I even bestow one regretful thought on the faded face inside the poor bonnet. I was eager to get back to Ronald's side, and see him enjoying his new possession. Moreover, I had a wonderful story to tell, and the telling of it would make the rest of the morning pass pleasantly away.