They walked up to the entrance to the picturesque Tudor house, both perhaps a little shy from their new-found happiness, the great event that had happened in their young lives. The door was wide open. Stormont and his sister stood in the hall to greet them; there was no white-haired butler, no inconvenient servants to extend a silent welcoming. Lydon shook hands with his host and hostess, and then turned with a radiant face to his fiancée. “Gloria has made me very happy,” he said simply, by way of announcing the tremendous fact. Mrs. Barnard first kissed her niece, and then bestowed an affectionate salute upon Leonard. Stormont literally hugged Gloria and wrung the young man’s hand heartily. “We must celebrate this at once,” he cried in his loud, ringing voice. “Come along. There is only one wine worthy of the occasion. I have still left in the cellar a few bottles of a matchless Krug. We will open one.” And, as they went along to the dining-room, Stormont and his sister leading the way, the young couple following them, Gloria laid her slender hand on her lover’s arm and whispered, “You have made me very happy too, dear.” CHAPTER SIX The week-end was a very quiet one, Lydon being the only guest. The young man thought this might be due to Stormont’s delicacy, that he felt it was only kind to allow the lovers to pursue their courtship in comparative seclusion. But in the following week the phenomenon was repeated. Nobody came down from London; none of the neighbours were asked to luncheon or dinner. Stormont occupied his time in pottering about the grounds and taking long walks. But there was a certain restlessness about him, an air of boredom which showed that this somewhat unusual isolation was not agreeing with him. Leonard commented on it to his sweetheart. Gloria shrugged her shoulders. “He’s always like that when he leads a quiet life; he is never really happy unless he is surrounded by plenty of people. He loves crowds.” “Perhaps he is sacrificing himself for our sakes,” suggested Leonard. The girl’s smile was good-humoured but sceptical. “Uncle Howard has a heap of good qualities, but I don’t think self-sacrifice is conspicuous amongst them. To tell you the truth, I think he is going a bit slow because he is compelled to.” They were walking in the beautifully-kept gardens which required a small army of gardeners to keep in order, and must have cost a pretty penny to maintain in such perfection. Only one interpretation could be put upon her words. “You mean to infer that he is a bit hard up,” said Lydon bluntly.