She rubbed her lean sallow hands together, saying in low, broken, lifeless tones: “We didn’t expect you till to-morrow, Reuben. I hope your health has improved.” This was quite a long speech for Mrs. Leuniger, who was of a monosyllabic habit. Before Reuben could reply, the door opposite the one from which his aunt had emerged was flung open, and two little boys, dressed in sailor-suits, rushed into the hall. One was dark, with bright black eyes; the other had a shock of flame-coloured hair, and pale, prominent eyes. “Reuben!” they cried in astonishment, and rushed upon their cousin. “Lionel! Sidney!” protested their mother faintly as the boys proceeded to take all sorts of liberties with the new arrival. The door by which they had come opened again, and a man’s voice cried, half in fun: “Why on earth are you youngsters making this confounded row? Be off to bed, or you’ll be sorry for it!” Reuben was standing under the light of a lamp, a smile on his face, as he lifted little red-haired Sidney from the ground and held him suspended by his wide sailor-collar. “It’s Reuben, old Reuben come back!” cried the children. An exclamation followed; the door was flung open wide; Reuben set down the child with a laugh and passed into the lighted room. CHAPTER III. How should Love, Whom the cross-lightnings of four chance-met eyes Flash into fiery life from nothing, follow Such dear familiarities of dawn? Seldom; but when he does, Master of all. _Aylmer’s Field._ The Leunigers’ drawing-room, in which Reuben now found himself, was a spacious apartment, hung with primrose coloured satin, furnished throughout in impeccable Louis XV. and lighted with incandescent gas from innumerable chandeliers and sconces. Beyond, divided by a plush-draped alcove, was a room of smaller size, where, at present, could be discerned the intent, Semitic faces of some half-dozen card-players. In the front room four or five young people in evening dress were grouped, but at Reuben’s entrance they all came forward with various exclamations of greeting. “Thought you weren’t coming back till to-morrow!” “I shouldn’t have known you; you’re as brown as a berry!” “See the conquering hero comes!” This last from Rose Leuniger, a fat girl of twenty, in a tight-fitting blue silk dress, with the red hair and light eyes _à fleur de tête_ of her little brother. “I am awfully glad to see you looking so well,” added Leopold Leuniger, the owner of the voice. He was a short, slight person of one or two-and-twenty, with a picturesque head of markedly tribal character. The dark, oval face, bright, melancholy eyes, alternately dreamy and shrewd; the charming, humorous smile, with its flash of white even teeth, might have belonged to some poet or musician, instead of to the son of a successful Jewish stockbroker.