So absorbed was Margaret in the beauty of the scene that she did not notice the figure of a man coming up the winding path at her left. Even Ned Spencer himself did not see the girl until he was almost upon her. Then he stopped short, his lips breaking into a noiseless "Well, by Jove!" A twig snapped under his foot at his next step, and the girl turned. "Oh, it's you," she said absorbedly. "I couldn't wait. I came right out to see it," she finished, her eyes once more on the valley below. The brothers, at first glance, looked wonderfully alike, and Margaret had unhesitatingly taken Ned to be Frank. Ned did not speak. He, too, like his sister an hour before, had fallen under the spell of a pair of wondrous blue eyes. "It seems to me," said the girl, slowly, "that nothing in the world would ever trouble me if I had that to look at." "It seems so to me, too," agreed Ned--but he was not looking at the view. The girl turned sharply. She gave a little cry of dismay. The embarrassed red flew to her cheeks. "Oh, you--you are not Uncle Frank at all!" she stammered. A sudden light of comprehension broke over Ned's face. And so this was Margaret. How stupid of him not to have known at once! He laughed lightly and made a low bow. "I have not that honor," he confessed. "But you--you must be Miss Kendall." "And you?" "I?" Ned smiled quizzically. "I? Oh, I am--your _Uncle_ Ned!" he announced; and his voice and his emphasis told her that he fully appreciated his privilege in being twenty-five--and uncle to a niece of twenty-three. CHAPTER XV By the end of the month the family at Hilcrest wondered how they had ever lived before they saw the world and everything in it through the blue eyes of Margaret Kendall--the world and everything in it seemed so much more beautiful now! Never were the long mornings in the garden or on the veranda so delightful to Mrs. Merideth as now with a bright, sympathetic girl to laugh, chat, or keep silent as the whim of the moment dictated; and never were the summer evenings so charming to Frank as now when one might lie back in one's chair or hammock and listen to a dreamy nocturne or a rippling waltz-song, and realize that the musician was no bird of passage, but that she was one's own beloved ward and was even now at home. As for Ned--never were the golf links in so fine a shape, nor the tennis court and croquet ground so alluring; and never had he known before how many really delightful trips there were within a day's run for his motor-car. And yet---- "Della, do you think Margaret is happy?" asked Frank one day, as he and his sister and Ned were watching the sunset from the west veranda. Margaret had gone into the house, pleading a headache as an excuse for leaving them. Della was silent. It was Ned who answered, indignantly. "Why, Frank, of course she's happy!" "I'm not so--sure," hesitated Frank. Then Mrs. Merideth spoke. "She's happy, yes; but she's--restless." Frank leaned forward.