"Now boys, sit down, tea's ready," said Mrs. Vernley, pouring out. John hoped every moment that Muriel would come in. He was disappointed when she was not in the hall to meet him, and his heart sank when he did not find her in the library. Perhaps she had gone out for a walk. He did not want to ask, for Vernley might think he had come simply to see her. It was not so, of course. He was glad to be with Vernley again, but he could not help looking forward to seeing Muriel, of whom he had been thinking through all those weeks at school. The talk at the tea-table was chiefly political. Mr. Vernley was discussing a coming election with Ribble, whom John thought was the most picturesque old man he had ever seen. He had long curly white hair, his eyes were surrounded by good-humoured wrinkles, and he beamed through his spectacles. The mouth was thin and compressed and had a ghost of a smile always hovering about it John wondered where he had seen such a face before, and then suddenly remembered a portrait of Thackeray in Mr. Fletcher's study. There was a slight resemblance, and Mr. Ribble's character seemed to John to be somewhat Thackerayish, for John was now half through "The Newcomes," after a delighted discovery of "Pendennis" and "Henry Esmond." "Steer has just published a fine book," Mr. Ribble was saying. "I think that little poem on Muriel is masterly." John was alert immediately, and Vernley, eating cake and drinking tea at the same moment, contrary to all laws, noticed John's interest. "When's Muriel coming home, Mother?" he asked. "I read you her letter this morning--to-morrow. You'll have to drive the trap to the station to meet her in the afternoon." "Why can't we motor?" "I'm going to Brooklands in the morning," said Tod, "and I'm taking Brown--so you'll have to drive the buggy." "Oh, bother--I hate the old thing!" But John would have ridden to Paradise in it if such a passenger as Muriel had awaited him. To-morrow! He looked at Vernley, and it occurred to him that his question had been what Mr. Fletcher, in debates, had called a leading one. Vernley had never shown much interest in John's affair, but he was not so unobservant as the latter thought. When the boys were changing for dinner that evening, and while John was struggling with a bow, his glance fell upon a silver frame standing on the dressing table. It contained a beautiful portrait of Muriel who laughed at him out of the frame. John looked long at it, and finally he realised that the photograph had been placed there for his delight. It was on his dressing table and not on Vernley's. Only one person could have placed it there. "I say, Bobbie," said John, through the open door leading to his friend's room. "What?" asked Vernley, standing with one leg in his black trousers, the other kicking its way through. "You're a jolly decent sort--being here, you know--and in this room again--and the--photograph--thanks awfully, old man."