Then Mr. Ravenor was silent for a minute, leaning back in his chair and looking steadily into the fire, and by the dancing, fitful light of the flames I could see that the old weariness and deep indefinable sadness had stolen into his pale face and dark eyes. It was only a passing change. The sound of the laughing voices around seemed suddenly to galvanise him into consciousness of the _rôle_ which he was playing and the expression faded away. Someone asked him a question and he answered it with a light jest. Once more he was the courteous, smiling host, whose sole thought appeared to be the entertainment of his guests. But I knew that there was a background. The dressing-bell rang and the gossiping assembly broke up. Mr. Ravenor, standing with the opened door in his hand, exchanged little happy speeches with most of the ladies as they swept out. When they were all gone he turned to Cecil and me and looked at us critically, with a faint smile upon his lips. "Well, are you ready for your matric., Cecil?" he asked. Cecil made a wry face. "Shall be soon, uncle!" he declared hopefully, "I'm getting on now first rate. Morton here makes me work like a Trojan." "That's right! And you, Philip? I hope my lazy nephew doesn't keep you back." "Oh, Morton's all right for his matric. whenever he likes to go in for it!" broke in Cecil. Mr. Ravenor nodded. "Good! You'd better go and dress now, both of you; Richards is waiting to show you your rooms." We passed up the great oak staircase, and on the first corridor we came face to face with a slim little figure in a white frock, walking demurely by the side of her maid, with her ruddy, golden hair tumbled about her oval face and an expectant light in her dancing blue eyes. Directly she saw us she flew into Cecil's arms. "Oh, Cis, Cis, Cis, how delightful! How glad I am that you have come! They only just told me! And how do you do, Mr. Morton?" She held out a very diminutive palm and looked up at me with a beaming smile. "I'm quite well, thank you, Lady Beatrice," I answered, looking down with keen pleasure into her sweet, childish face, and repressing a strong desire to take her up in my arms, as Cecil had done, and give her a kiss. "You remember me, then?" "Oh, yes!" she answered; "I remember you quite well! Your name is Philip, isn't it? You told me that I might call you by it." "Well, we must go now, dear," Cecil said, stroking her hair. "We've got to dress for dinner, you know." "Oh!" The exclamation was drawn out and the little face fell. Suddenly it brightened. "Cecil, what do you think? I've got a pony, a real pony of my own. Will you come for a ride with me to-morrow? Please, please, do!" "All right!" he promised carelessly. She clapped her hands and looked up at me. "Will you come too, Philip?" she asked. "I should like to very much indeed," I answered unhesitatingly.