Sidney's heart beat quickly at the thought that she might possibly see Randolph soon. Their letters had insensibly altered in character from the time when they had first started their correspondence. She felt she could not greet him now as a mere acquaintance. He was a good deal more to her than that. And as she mused upon the probability of an early meeting, the flush deepened in her cheeks, and the light came to her eyes. About four days afterwards, Monica received a wire. "Can you put me up? Landed in London last night.—RANDOLPH." And Sidney felt as if she were walking on air after it came. It was a most exquisite evening in August when he arrived. The dogcart had been sent to the station for him, and Monica and Sidney greeted him from their seat on the lawn. He strode towards them, looking thin and sunburnt; but his eyes were on Sidney's face and no other. "How good to see you here," he said, as he took her hand in his. "I hardly dared to hope it." Monica smiled at his outspokenness. "She is where she always is," she said,—"where her help is needed. Since I have become such a crock, she has supplied all my deficiencies." And then Randolph turned to her. "I can't tell you how sorry I am," he murmured. "Well, if you are, you mustn't say so. Because I am not yet able to endure pity. Here is Chuckles coming to greet you. He was hoping to drive you back from the station, but arrived home too late from the Rectory." Chuckles had flung himself delightedly on Randolph. His school had not as yet robbed him of his impulsive affectionate ways. "I'm simply longing to hear about India, Cousin Ran." "Well, give me breathing space, old chap. I'll do my best later on. Now I want to hear all the news round here; my news can wait." Sidney had slipped into the house. It was more than she could bear to stay quietly there. The touch of his hand, the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice, were all too much for her. She felt like breaking down. She would have given worlds to have had her first meeting with him alone, but Monica hardly realised how things were between them. And Sidney had hardly realised it herself until she was brought face to face with him. Randolph's eyes followed her to the house. And then Monica, looking up, caught the hungry unsatisfied look in his eyes, and understood. She promptly resolved to give him his opportunity later on. Meanwhile, with Chuckles on his knee, he sat and asked after Major Urquhart. "Oh, he is pretty well; but he is not a happy man, and is in complete subjection to his wife. She fills the house with visitors whenever she gets a chance; but I have nothing to say against her. She is sweetness itself to all outsiders, and is always doing little kindnesses to her neighbours. Her role is to be popular. As a matter-of-fact, people round here take her existence very quietly, and do not have much to do with her. They can't get over Sidney's dethronement." His lips met together in a stern line.