It is a summer evening, and a beautiful little boy, more than a year old, is sprawling, and babbling, and rolling, and laughing on the grass upon his back. Margaret, seated on the grass beside him, prattles and laughs with him, and rolls him about, delighted, and adoring her little idol. Old Anne Sheckleton, sitting on the bench, smiling happily, under the window, which is clustered round with roses, contributes her quota of nonsense to the prattle. In the midst of this comes a ring at the bell in the jessamine-covered wall, and a tidy little maid runs out to the green door, opens it, and in steps Cleve Verney. Margaret is on her feet in a moment, with the light of a different love, something of the old romance, in the glad surprise, "Oh, darling, it is you!" and her arms are about his neck, and he stoops and kisses her fondly, and in his face for a moment, is reflected the glory of that delighted smile. "Yes, darling. Are you better?" "Oh, yes--ever so much; I'm always well when you are here; and look, see our poor little darling." "So he is." "We have had such fun with him--haven't we, Anne? I'm sure he'll be so like you." "Is this in his favour, cousin Anne?" asked Cleve, taking the old lady's hand. "Why should it not?" said she gaily. "A question--well, I take the benefit of the doubt," laughed Cleve. "No, darling," he said to Margaret, "you mustn't sit on the grass; it is damp; you'll sit beside our Cousin Anne, and be prudent." So he instead sat down on the grass, and talked with them, and prattled and romped with the baby by turns, until the nurse came out to convey him to the nursery, and he was handed round to say what passes for "Good night," and give his tiny paw to each in turn. "You look tired, Cleve, darling." "So I am, my Guido; can we have a cup of tea?" "Oh, yes. I'll get it in a moment," said active Anne Sheckleton. "It's too bad disturbing you," said Cleve. "No trouble in the world," said Anne, who wished to allow them a word together; "besides, I must kiss baby in his bed." "Yes, darling, I _am_ tired," said Cleve, taking his place beside her, so soon as old Anne Sheckleton was gone. "That old man"---- "Lord Verney, do you mean?" "Yes; he has begun plaguing me again." "What is it about, darling?" "Oh, fifty things; he thinks, among others, I ought to marry," said Cleve, with a dreary laugh. "Oh, I thought he had given up that," she said, with a smile that was very pale. "So he did for a time; but I think he's possessed. If he happens to take up an idea that's likely to annoy other people, he never lets it drop till he teases them half to death. He thinks I should marry _money_ and political connection, and I don't know what all, and I'm quite tired of the whole thing. What a vulgar little box this is--isn't it, darling? I almost wish you were back again in that place in France." "But I can see you so much oftener here, Cleve," pleaded Margaret, softly, with a very sad look.