politeness which had always existed between the two men was not visibly changed. Walking along, and cutting viciously with his stick at the harmless bushes in the path on this particular day, he soon found himself near the fence that ran around the lawn at Isleham. He concluded he would go in and see the Berkeleys for half an hour. It would be a refreshing change from Madame Koller and Ahlberg to Olivia’s pure, bright face and the Colonel’s jovial, wholesome chaff. It was a mild, spring-like day in early winter. The path led to the lawn through the old-fashioned garden, where everything was brown and sere except the box hedge that stiffly bordered the straight, broad path that led through the garden. He remembered having heard Miles at breakfast say something about going over to Isleham, and was therefore not surprised to see him walking up and down the path with Olivia. She had a book in her hand and was reading in her low, clear voice, aloud to him as they walked slowly, and Miles was following what she read closely, occasionally stopping to ask a question and looking quite cheerful and interested. It came back to him that Miles had spoken of Olivia and himself taking up Italian together. From her manner, and from the expression on her charming face in its little black velvet hood, he saw she was doing it for Miles’ sake. He loved that younger brother as well as one human being ever loved another. To have saved the boy one pang he would have done much--but he could do so little! Miles was no longer fit for field sports, society he shunned, reading he could do for himself. Pembroke felt every day the masculine inability to console. Yet here was this girl who had found something to interest poor little Miles, and was doing it with the sweetest womanliness in the world. She probably cared nothing for Italian, but Miles was fond of it. “Wait,” said Olivia, with authority, as he came up. “Don’t speak a word. I must let you see how well I can read this,” and she read a stanza correctly enough. “That will do,” remarked Pembroke, who knew something of Italian, “you were wise to choose that Francesca da Rimini story though. It is the easiest part in the whole book.” Olivia slammed the volume together indignantly, and drew down her pretty brows in a frown. “You and papa are always laughing at us. Never mind Miles, _I_ don’t mind them I assure you.” Pembroke went in and remained to luncheon, as did Miles. The Colonel was in great spirits. He had had a brush on the road with Mrs. Peyton, and had been over to The Beeches. “And by the way, Pembroke, what’s this I hear about poor Cole getting as tight as Bacchus the other night at The Beeches?” “Nothing at all,” answered Pembroke. He did not mean to say anything about Ahlberg’s share in it, considering the relations between them, but the Colonel was too sharp for him.