“Ah! now we have got at the real reason. Of course, if Rex is coming I have not a chance,” said Léon, half in earnest, half in fun, for he was rather jealous of his mother’s friendship for Rex de Courcy. “Don’t be silly, Léon; I have not seen Rex for two months, and I am longing to hear all about his visit to England. Besides, I never can forget what a comfort Rex was to me before any of you boys were born; he always seems to me almost like one of my own sons. Go and get your father to ride with you; it will do him good; and tell the other boys Père Yvon is expecting them in the study,” replied the baroness. These three boys were the only children she had, and though she worshipped them, and had long since ceased to grieve for her little baby daughter, yet the baron, proud as he was of his sons, never forgot the little girl he had got rid of so much more thoroughly than he had ever intended to do. He never spoke of the child even to his wife, and all the boys knew of her was that they once had a little sister who was drowned with their Uncle Léon; and yet a day never passed on which the baron did not think of her, and in his secret heart he cherished a hope, vain and futile as he knew that hope to be, that, after all, perhaps she had not perished with Léon, and he might yet live to hold her in his arms. Perhaps if he had had another daughter to take the place of the lost one he might not have hankered after the sleeping baby he had so ruthlessly torn from its luxurious home to be cast upon the waves of a wicked world. But no other daughter had come, and, though her three fine boys satisfied the baroness’s heart, there always remained an empty place in her husband’s. As the baroness had said, Reginald de Courcy had been a great comfort to her in those sad days when she believed her own baby to have perished with Léon. From the day when she went to stay at Parc de Courcy, while her husband and M. de Courcy were in England inquiring into the loss of the Hirondelle, until her own Léon was born, the baroness thought a day lost unless she had half an hour of the pretty little Rex’s society; and ever since, though he was too old to be a companion for her boys, Reginald had been a constant visitor at Château de Thorens, which he looked upon as a second home, and came and went as he pleased. It was now two months since he went on a visit to Oafham Park, a visit spent, as we know, in winning Fairy’s heart; and the baroness, who had heard rumours of some love affair which had occupied Rex in England, was expecting him to call this evening, feeling sure he would make her his confidante. And in this she was not disappointed, for when Rex appeared, as he did a little later in the afternoon, she found he was quite as anxious to talk of his late experiences in England as she was to hear.