"I got your letter, my dear boy," began Mr. Wedmore, holding out his hand with so much heartiness that it was plain he was delighted to be able to forgive his old friend's son, "and I am very glad, indeed, that you have found your way back to us so soon. I am heartily glad to hear that the worries which have been making you depressed lately are over--heartily glad. And so, I am sure," added he, with a significant smile, "Doreen will be." "Thank you, sir," said Dudley. "You are very kind, very indulgent. I am not ungrateful, I assure you." Max, behind them, was listening with attentive ears. He did not feel so sure as his father seemed to be that all was now well with Dudley. "Where's Doreen?" he asked his younger sister. "Don't know, I'm sure. She's taken herself off somewhere. Probably somebody else will find her quicker than you will." The younger sister was right. The younger sister always is on these occasions. Within five minutes of his arrival, Dudley found his way into the breakfast room, where Doreen, a pug dog and a raven were sitting together on the floor, surrounded by a frightful litter of paper and shavings and string, wooden boxes, hampers, and odds and ends of cotton wool. She just looked up when Dudley came in, gave him a glance and a little cool nod, and then, as he attempted to advance, uttered a shrill little scream. "One step farther, and my wax cupids will be ruined!" "Wax cupids!" repeated Dudley, feebly. "Yes, for my Christmas tree. It's to be the greatest success ever known in these parts, or the greatest failure. Nothing between. That's what I must always have--something sensational--something to make people howl at me, or to make them want to light bonfires in my honor. That's characteristic, isn't it?" And Doreen, who was dressed in a black skirt, with a scarlet velvet bodice which did justice to her brilliant complexion and soft, dark hair, paused in the act of turning out a number of glittering glass balls into her lap. "Very," said Dudley, as he made his way carefully to the nearest chair and sat down to look at her. He was up to his knees in brown-paper parcels, over which barricade he stretched out his hand. Doreen affected not to see it. She began to tie bits of fancy string into the little rings in the glass balls, cutting off the ends with a pair of scissors. "Aren't you going to shake hands with me?" asked Dudley, impatiently. Doreen answered without looking tip. "No. Not yet." "What's the matter now?" "Oh, I am offended." "What have I done now?" Doreen threw up her head. "What have you _not_ done? We have all of us--I among the others--had a good deal to put up with from you, lately, in the matter of what I will call general neglect. And you put a climax to it the day before yesterday by rushing out of the house without a word of good-bye to anybody." "There was a reason for it," interrupted Dudley, quickly. "I suppose so. But I'm not going to take the reason on trust, Mr. Horne."