“Indeed, mother, I wish I were in a place where I could have had a nice luncheon prepared for you. But I have only this little den and a couple of cupboards--for they’re nothing more--on the second floor. And I’m too busy to go out. But I’ll pack you up comfortably in a cab and send you to a place where I’ve been very well served in better times, and you might get your shopping done or whatever calls you may have to make; and by the time you come back here I’ll have my work done. By-the-bye, Deborah,” he went on, turning as if by an afterthought to the girl who had risen to go, “you might stay and help me to get this through, if you will. I can get on twice as fast if you’ll dictate.” The girl hesitated, but Mrs. Pennant broke in at once: “Yes, yes; stay, my dear, and help him to get his work done. I will be back in an hour--or two hours. Which shall it be, Rees?” “I don’t think we can get through in less than two hours, mother.” “Very well, then. In two hours I will be back.” The active old lady was already out of the room, Rees following, while Deborah, erect and very grave, waited for his return. CHAPTER XIV. When Rees re-entered the room, he found Deborah standing at the desk examining the inkstand. It was quite dry. “Ha! you’ve found me out,” he said, laughing. “Of course, I didn’t really want you to dictate for me. One doesn’t waste the time of a lovely girl like that. Come and sit by the fire and talk to me. We have two hours before the old lady comes back.” He put his arm round her, drew her to the fire, made her sit in the arm-chair, from which he had risen, and placed himself on the hearth-rug at her feet. “Now,” he said, “we can talk.” “Yes,” answered Deborah, who had been unusually grave and silent ever since her arrival. “I say,” he went on, looking up to examine her face with boldly critical eyes, “you’ve changed a good deal, Deborah, surely.” “Changed!” said she. “Have I ‘gone of,’ as they say?” “No, it isn’t that exactly; but you seem to have grown older, more staid, more demure. And--you dress differently, don’t you?” “I’m not wearing the same things that I wore a year ago, of course. I suppose you mean that I’m countrified beside the London ladies.” “You’re much handsomer than they are, at any rate. I really think, Deborah, without any joking, that you are the handsomest woman I’ve ever seen.” “Well, you have something more interesting than that to tell me, I suppose. I want to know all about yourself; I’m not so submissive as mamma, remember, and you can’t put me off as you can her.” “No, I’m afraid you’re rather inclined to be strong-minded, Deb. No need to ask whether you’re still heart whole and fancy free. No man would ever have the courage to make up to you.” “They have though; you will be surprised to hear that I’ve had two offers, and that I refused them both because I was _not_ heart whole and fancy free.”