Miss Everard and Mr. Legard fell easily into conversation at once, as if they had been old friends. Lady Thetford's ward was one of those people who form their likes and dislikes at first sight, and Mr. Legard's face would have been a pretty sure letter of recommendation to him the wide world over. May liked his looks; and then he was Sir Rupert's friend, and she was never over particular about social forms and customs; and so they dawdled about the grounds and through the leafy arcades, in the genial sunshine, talking about Sir Rupert and Rome, and art and artists, and the thousand and one things that turn up in conversation; and the moments slipped by, half hour followed half hour, until May jerked out her watch at last, in a sudden fit of recollection, and found, to her consternation, it was past two. "What will mamma say!" cried the young lady, aghast. "And Rupert; I dare say he's home to luncheon before this. Let us go back to the house, Mr. Legard. I had no idea it was half so late." Mr. Legard laughed frankly. "The honesty of that speech is the highest flattery my conversational powers ever received, Miss Everard. I am very much obliged to you. Ah! by Jove! Sir Rupert himself!" For riding slowly up under the sunlit trees came the young baronet. As Mr. Legard spoke, his glance fell upon them, the young lady and gentleman advancing so confidentially with half a dozen curly poodles frisking about them. To say Sir Rupert stared would be a mild way of putting it--his eyes opened in wide wonder. "Guy Legard!" "Thetford! My dear Sir Rupert!" The baronet leaped off his horse, his eyes lighting, and shook hands with the artist, in a burst of heartiness very rare with him. "Where in the world did you drop from, and how under the sun did you come to be _like this_ with May?" "I leave the explanation to Mr. Legard," said May, blushing a little under Sir Rupert's glance, "whilst I go and see mamma, only premising that luncheon hour is past, and you had better not linger." She tripped away, and the two young men followed more slowly into the house. Sir Rupert led his friend to his studio, and left him to inspect the pictures. "Whilst I speak a word to my mother," he said; "it will detain me hardly an instant." "All right!" said Mr. Legard, boyishly. "Don't hurry yourself on my account, you know." Lady Thetford lay where her son had left her--lay as if she had hardly stirred since. She looked up and half rose as he came in, her eyes painfully, intensely anxious. But his face, grave and quiet, told nothing. "Well," she panted, her eyes glittering. "It is well, mother. Aileen Jocyln has promised to become my wife." "Thank God!" Lady Thetford sunk back, her hands clasped tightly over her heart, its loud beating plainly audible. Her son looked down at her, his face keeping its steady gravity--none of the rapture of an accepted lover there. "You are content, mother?" "More than content, Rupert. And you?"