* * * * * Colonel Fenchurch was delighted to meet Lancelot Lumley, whom he had known from boyhood and helped into his own corps. He gave him a lift to Thornby, enjoying _en route_ a full budget of regimental news; and when he deposited his passenger and portmanteau at the Rectory, invited him to The Holt that same evening to take pot luck. It was a memorable occasion. Miss Glyn in white and blushes, occupied her aunt’s place--a lovely _vice-reine_. The menu was excellent--Letty had taken particular pains with the flowers, and candle-shades, as well as her own toilet,--though her fingers shook unaccountably as she did her hair, and endeavoured to fasten maddening hooks,--that attached themselves to everything but their corresponding eyes, as if they were alive and possessed! However, the result of the toilet was all that could be desired, and the timid hostess descended to the drawing-room. With the first laugh her tremors vanished, and somehow the absence of the Lady of The Holt, contributed to the ease and gaiety of the little gathering. Conversation flowed uninterruptedly, laughter was frequent and hearty, and the rose-shaded candles illuminated a thoroughly congenial trio. The Colonel related old stories,--now undismayed by his Dorothy’s frowns,--and drank two glasses of port; the pug was made happy with a bone, Letty put her elbows on the table and chattered like a schoolgirl, remained whilst the men smoked, and subsequently in the drawing-room delighted them with her songs. Lancelot Lumley hung over the piano (and the Colonel dozed by the fire, with Sammy the pug, also dozing, on his knee) absorbing music and love--it was without exception the most glorious evening he had ever spent! Before the guest took his departure, various agreeable plans were laid for future meetings. “Mind, you must drop in whenever you like, Lance,” said his host as he accompanied him to the hall door. “You know your way here--come up to lunch to-morrow at one sharp, and we will all go skating on Barnby Mere. I hear the ice is first-rate.” The next afternoon’s post brought the Colonel a letter from his wife; it was short, urgent, and very much to the point. When he had read it, he tore it up thoughtfully and placed it in the fire; only to Mrs. Hesketh, when she dropped in to tea, did he divulge the contents. In reply to her question, “Heard from Doodie?” he answered: “No--er--yes--just a line--I say, Maudie, it’s a bit awkward--she bars young Lumley, and I’ve been asking him to look in whenever he pleases. Now I’m not to let him put his nose inside the door!” In reply to the lady’s elevated brows, he added: “The fact of the matter is, Doodie’s afraid the boy might take a fancy to Letty.” “And, of course, no subalterns need apply! I see; well, I believe that you are locking the door, when the steed is stolen.” “What, you don’t mean that--it’s one of your jokes?”