It did not arrive for some weeks, since Felix and Vronsky, out in Siberia, were much occupied with certain happenings hereafter to be recorded fully. When at last a letter was received, it was inconclusive. Felix wrote that he hoped, before the end of the year, to get leave to come and see her. Until then he thought it best not to discuss the nature of their feelings for each other. For himself, if he wrote of what he did, and not of what he thought, that, as she must know, was out of deference to her commands. What he desired was, as always, her happiness. Just now he was not in a position to write more definitely, but as soon as his plans cleared, she should hear from him again. That letter had reached Rona towards the end of February. She had not heard since, and it was now July. A remittance had arrived, however, regularly each month as usual. The ceasing of letters from David had not troubled her much. Its effect had been to relegate the whole affair more and more to the background of her young eager mind, full of plans for the future and not eager to busy itself with the past. Such was the Veronica now moving over the grass towards Aunt Bee. "Come, child, tea will be cold," said Miss Rawson. "Nothing could be cold to-day," laughed back Rona, raising her eyes from her book, but quickening her steps obediently. The stable clock chimed a quarter past four. "Denzil ought to be here soon if he comes by that train," said Aunt Bee. "I am impatient to see him again," said Rona, in tones of candid interest. "I owe him so much, I feel inclined to act like a young person in a novel of a century ago, and fall on my knees, seizing and kissing my benefactor's hand! Wouldn't he be astounded!" "Indeed he would! Denzil never gave way to an impulse in his life." "No. I remember well how dignified and proper he always was. But think how good he has been to me!" She sat down in a low chair and took her tea from Miss Rawson's hands. As David had been so careful to keep her in funds, her dress had always been her own affair. And she had a style of her own. It was daring to wear a rose-lined hat with the warm chestnut of her abundant locks; but she achieved it. Aunt Bee caught herself thinking that, if Denzil really wanted her, he had better make up his mind at once. Nameless and dowerless though she was, the Girl from Nowhere was not likely to go long a-begging. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the puffing of the arriving motor could be heard upon the still air. "There he is!" cried Aunt Bee, rising from among her tea-things. Rona did not rise. She leaned forward with an air of interest, but quite controlled. Miss Rawson was halfway across the lawn when Denzil stepped out through the drawing-room window, joined her on the terrace, greeted her with affection, and strolled with her towards the table in the shade.