So great had been her relief, that a new wave of kindly feeling for Deerehurst had awakened in her mind; and when, on the following morning, he had joined her in her early ride, she had received him with friendly warmth. And from that, things had drifted, until Deerehurst's presence--Deerehurst's discreet, deferential, amusing personality--had become a factor in the day's routine. The Estcoits had arrived from America, and, with their advent, she had been compelled to see less of Nance; the majority of her friends had already left town, so that even had she desired the old existence, amusements and occupations were less easy to find than they had been a month ago. There was, of course, her daily letter from Gore--the most precious thing in her existence--and there was also her daily letter to him. But even a woman in love cannot read and write--or even dream--all day; and in the intervals of idleness there invariably seemed to be--Deerehurst. But now at last the day had arrived upon which Gore was to return to London. It was four o'clock in the afternoon; the hot summer air was beating upon the green-and-white sunblinds of the flat; and Nance was standing at a table in the window, arranging a bowl of heliotrope, when Clodagh opened the door of the drawing-room. She was dressed in her riding habit; her riding crop was under one arm; and as she came forward into the room she was drawing off a pair of chamois gloves. "He hasn't come?" she asked quickly. "Oh, I'm so glad! I was terrified that that last gallop might have made me late! How lovely life is!" She came quickly across the room; and, linking her arm in Nance's, buried her face in the heliotrope. "How lovely life is! And summer! And flowers! Do you know, the sun to-day made me long for Orristown. Think of it all, Nance! Burke and Hannah, and Polly and the dogs! Oh, we must all go there together--you and I, and Pierce and Walter----" She paused suddenly and looked at her sister. "Nance! You're cross!" Nance refused to look up. "Nance, you're cross!" Her voice was less sure--less confident. Nance caught the tone of hesitancy, and turned quickly round. "I wish Walter had driven through the park ten minutes ago," she said. "I do--I really, really do." Clodagh's face flamed, and she drew away from her sister. "And I wish----" she began hotly. Then she paused. The door of the drawing-room was thrown open; and Gore was announced. For one instant, Clodagh stood hesitating with a new and charming diffidence; the next, all thoughts of self were blotted out by the consciousness of his presence--his bright, strong presence, typified by his frank eyes, his clear, healthy skin, his close-cropped fair hair. With a little exclamation of greeting, she hurried towards him. In quick, warm response, he took both her hands. "Well!" he said--"well! It's good to see you! How splendid you look! And Nance, too!" He turned to the window with quiet cordiality.