Those days at "The Croft" went all too swiftly, and the morning came when the two boys lifted their trunks into the car and were whirled down the drive to the station. John left feeling that the end of life had come. He had been among friends and had felt almost as if he had been to his own home--the kind of home of which he had dreamed. Mrs. Vernley had mothered him, and John's secret pleasure at being petted had been expressed in many little acts of devotion. "What a lovable boy he is!" she said to her husband as she watched the car recede down the drive. "Yes, and sharp too. They may well call him 'Scissors'--that boy will cut his way through," replied Mr. Vernley. "Where's Muriel? I thought she was going to the station with them?" Mrs. Vernley looked intently at her husband, but his face told her nothing. Ten minutes before she had hurried a sobbing Muriel off to her bedroom, where she was now going to lecture her on the absurdity of falling in love at sixteen, but as she secretly sympathised with her daughter she did not say anything to her husband. Upstairs in the bedroom she found Muriel with watery eyes, standing by the window, and screwing up a miniature handkerchief. Mrs. Vernley looked at her and decided that further words would bring a deluge. So she talked about everything but the thing in both their minds, and the only allusion to John's departure was when she said, "Now, Muriel, wash your face. Miss Lane will be here for the music lesson in a few minutes." It was then that Muriel found courage to make her confession. "I gave him a photograph, Mother--I hope you don't mind?" "Well, it's a little immodest for you to be presenting your photograph so freely." "He asked me for it, Mother." "Oh,--but really, you children are very absurd! I shall dread Bobbie bringing friends home with him if it means you are going to have red eyes every time. But there--you'll get over it," she said kindly, as she stooped and kissed her. "Now come along, dear, I'm afraid you haven't done much practising for Miss Lane." The subject was never alluded to again, but Mr. Vernley the following morning almost provoked another flood of tears. "You'll miss John, Muriel," he said genially at breakfast. "No more morning gallops together--you looked quite a loving pair on horseback." There was silence, then looking from Muriel to her mother, a glance told him everything. "Why, bless me!--you don't mean to tell me--" Muriel had dropped her eggspoon in a desperate search for a handkerchief. "My dear child!" cried Mr. Vernley, pinching her ear, "I'd no idea young Master Scissors had made such a conquest. The young beggar, I'll teach him to upset my daughter." He laughed good-heartedly, saw Muriel force a smile through her tears, and then diplomatically prevented further observation by spreading out the _Times_. III