"You dear boy," she said, putting her hand on his curls, "where did you learn your pretty, pretty ways?" "It is Jacky's way of expressing affection," said Freda proudly, "and no one taught him. It just came to him untaught." Beyond the shaded drawing-room we saw the dining-table through an arch with looped-up curtains. Candles with green shades were lit among the profusion of roses, though it was still broad sunlight. "You won't mind, my dears," said the old lady, "my not dining with you. I can't stand the light nor condemn others to darkness, so I have a little wheeled table brought in here with my dinner." Just then a tall dark gentleman stepped in by the French window, as if he were very much at home. "Hello, Trefusis!" cried Jacky, from where he was squatted on the ground by Mrs. Des Vœux. "Is that you, John, my dear?" said Mrs. Des Vœux, as he came up to her chair. Then she introduced him to us as "Our squire and neighbour, Mr. Trefusis." I was rather surprised, for Freda hadn't said a word of this neighbour, who was evidently very much at home in the house. Mr. Trefusis dined with us, and we found him extremely pleasant. He was a grave, thoughtful-looking man, with melancholy eyes. Freda told us afterwards that he had lost his wife in the first year of their marriage, and had since spent a life absorbed in study and reading. "He is much younger than he looks," she added. I could quite believe that, if it were only because of the terms of camaraderie on which he was with Jacky. Jacky, indeed, treated him precisely as if they were of an age, and it was delightful to see them playing cricket together--Jacky about the height of his bat, and the two as grave as possible. I said one day to Mrs. Des Vœux how much we liked Mr. Trefusis. "John Trefusis is a good man, my dear," she said, "a good man, and one can't go beyond that. He has suffered a great deal, but I pray there may be happiness in store for him yet." That first opened my eyes to the fact that Mr. Trefusis was in love with my sister. Indeed it was patent enough once we had the clue. But Freda--that was quite another matter. That she knew I could not doubt, from the little half-vexed consciousness she betrayed once or twice under his regard, but of love I could find no slightest sign. One day Freda and I were together, and Freda's son was delivering his mind on many matters, as was his way when his commanding-officer was not present. "Aunty Hilda," said he to me suddenly, "have you long, beautiful hair like mother's? And would you mind very much if I were playing with you and pulled it all down?" "Of course she would mind," said Freda. "No lady likes to have a rowdy little boy like you pulling her all to pieces." "'Cept you," said Jacky; "but then, of course, you're not a lady, you're only mother. You remember that day I had pulled down all your hair when Trefusis came in."