‘Good-bye,’ says Susan. And then, to his everlasting surprise, she leans forward, lays her hands upon his shoulders, and presses her lips to his cheek, not lightly or carelessly, but with heartfelt feeling. She shows no confusion. Not so much as a blush appears upon her face. It seems the most natural thing in the world—to her! That it is gratitude only that has impelled her to this deed is quite plain to Crosby. He pushes her back from him very gently, and, stepping into the carriage, is soon out of sight. But the memory of that kiss goes with him. It seems to linger on his cheek, and he can still see her as she raised her head, with her lovely tear-dimmed eyes on his. It was all done in the most innocent, the most friendly way. She had no thought beyond the fact that he was being very good to the little idolized brother. It was thus she showed her gratitude. But even through gratitude to kiss him! Suddenly a fresh, a most unpleasant thought springs to life. No doubt she regards him as an old fogey—a man of such and such an age—a kind of bachelor uncle! Oh, confound it! He is not so very much older than she is, if one comes to think of it. He feels a rush of anger towards Susan, followed by a strange depression, that he either will not or does not understand. The anger, however, he understands well enough. There is no earthly reason why she should think him old enough to kiss like that. It was abominable of her. He is conscious of a longing to go back and have it out with her—to ask her at what age she considers a man may be kissed. But at this point he checks himself, and gives way to a touch of mirth that is a trifle grim. She might mistake his meaning, and say twenty—that would be about her own age. And of course it is impossible to go back, the journey once begun. Though why he had undertaken the charge of this child except to please her he hardly knows. And in all probability the cure will never be effected. And then she will go even further, and regret having given him that insulting kiss—of gratitude. And what on earth is he to do with this child—this burden? Here he looks round at the little burden. Bonnie is asleep. All the tears and excitement have overcome him, and he is lying back in a deep slumber, and in a most uncomfortable position. Crosby bends over him, and tenderly, very tenderly, lifts the small delicate, flower-like head from its uneasy resting-place against the side of the carriage, and lays it softly on his arm. And thus he supports it for the rest of the drive, until, Dublin being reached, he gives him into the care of a trained nurse procured from the Rotunda, who is to accompany the child abroad. CHAPTER L. ‘How goodness heightens beauty!’ ‘Oh, what a Christmas Day!’ cries Betty, springing out of bed and rushing to the window.