We said no more about the matter then, but on the following morning I received two letters, one from Lady Silchester and the other from Lord Langerdale, both urging me to pay at least a short visit to London and perform social duties, which naturally seemed of more importance to them than to me. I read them through carefully and made up my mind at once. But Lord Langerdale's letter had stirred up some old memories, and I did not tell Cecil my decision immediately. "You are about town a good deal, Cecil. Do you ever see anything of Leonard de Cartienne?" I asked. Cecil shook his head. "No, nor am I ever likely to," he answered. "I have heard of him, though, by a strange fluke." "What is he doing?" "Got a commission in the Turkish army. Queer thing I heard the other day from a man I used to know very well once. He's secretary at the Embassy now at Constantinople, and he asked me whether I ever came across him. Seems he isn't particularly popular out there." "He's a bad lot," I remarked. "Jolly sure of it," Cecil assented. "No one but a blackguard would have behaved as he did to poor little Milly. But about London, Phil?" "I will go," I said. "If you like we will leave here to-morrow." Lady Silchester received us very kindly, and Beatrice, though full of the distractions of her first season, seemed even better pleased to see us. It was strange how much I found in the tall slim girl, whom everyone was quoting as the beauty of the season, to remind me of the quaint, old-fashioned child whose imperious manner and naïve talk had so charmed me a few years ago. There were the same wealth of ruddy golden hair, the same delicate features, and the same dainty little mannerisms. Everyone admired Lady Beatrice, and so did I. My stay in London lasted till the end of the season. I made my orthodox _début_ into Society under the wing of Lord Langerdale, and divided my time pretty well between my aunt and uncle and the house in Cadogan Square. When at last it was all over, Lord and Lady Langerdale, Lady Silchester, Cecil, and Beatrice returned to Ravenor as my guests. I am not writing a love story. I cannot trace the growth of my love for Beatrice, for it seemed to come upon me with a rush; and yet, when I wondered how it came, it seemed to me that it must have been always so. Those long summer days at Ravenor were the sweetest I had ever known. I lost all count of time. Hours and days and weeks seemed all blended in an exquisite dream, from which, unlike all others, the awakening was at once the culmination and the happiest part. For one night we came back hand in hand from wandering about on the terraces under a starlit sky, and a great joy was gliding through my veins and throbbing in my heart. Need I say what had happened? Beatrice was mine, my own, and I was very happy.