‘Oh, no,’ cried Elly, with a blush and a laugh. ‘Oh, no; why, Jack’s only just come of age.’ Susie accepted this information meekly. ‘Then, he had got your consent?’ she said. ‘Oh, yes,’ cried Elly, with fervour, ‘of course he had that all the time.’ And then the girl was seized with a little fit of that laughter which is so near tears. She grasped Susie suddenly by the arm. ‘Do you know,’ she cried, flaming celestial rosy red, ‘what happened when he went away? We kissed each other! I was only sixteen. It was four years ago. And I have sometimes thought that he never understood what had happened. But, of course, after that, when Jack asked me----’ She could not grow more crimson than she had done before, and her eyes filled with that golden dew of happiness and tears which makes the dullest eyes swim in light. This lovely softening and revolution in the girl’s face touched Susie. She put her arms timidly round her and kissed her cheek, to which Elly replied by flinging herself upon the conforting bosom of this new friend to whom she had now a right. ‘We’re sisters, don’t you know,’ she said. ‘I’ve only had Aunt Mary till now, and Aunt Mary’s so much older. Yes, of course, of course, he had my consent.’ ‘Then what did he want more?’ said Susie, in her ear. ‘Dear, I’m of Mr. Percy’s opinion too. He has got to go away and do what he can to make it agreeable to your people. That is the only thing he could do--unless he had kept away altogether,’ Susie added, ‘which would perhaps have been the wisest way.’ At which Elly sprang up, and, seizing her comforter by both arms, shook her, first with wild indignation, then bursting again into the agitated laughter which belonged to her state. ‘Oh, you cruel--oh, you barbarous----’ she cried, and kissed her between. Then they started apart and turning round appeared demurely, seated close to each other in silence and attention, when John came in hurriedly with a bag in his hand pushing open the door. It was of no use, however, as he was obliged to acknowledge. The night train which did not pass till midnight was the only one possible. As a matter of fact he did not go till next morning, subdued in his ardour of departure by a whole afternoon spent in the society of Elly, with whose freedom for that day nobody interfered. And indeed the afternoon was passed in a somewhat strange way, in the parlour which was so connected with all the associations of John’s youthful life, where he and she bending over the table with their heads close together went over the plans, of which John made a sketch for Elly’s benefit, of the great scheme which he was convinced was to make his fortune. It was, let us say, the drainage of the Thames valley, than which there is no more urgently wanted piece of engineering, nor one which would bring a young man more fame and money.