Her bright face was flushed with excitement at the present moment, and her slight, graceful figure flitted from window to window with an ever-increasing restlessness, though her movements were studiously quiet. The silence without seemed to cause her much disappointment. ‘That horrid old coach must have been late. He ought to have been here ages ago. How I do _hate_ waiting!’ sighed she at last. ‘If you had taken my advice, and settled yourself to some occupation, you would not find waiting so wearisome,’ said Mrs. Belassis, in measured tones. Maud shrugged her shoulders behind her aunt’s back, and only murmured again: ‘I do wish he would come. I hate waiting.’ ‘I dare say he has stopped at the Ladywell Arms to “liquor up,”’ cried Bertha flippantly, throwing her book on one side. ‘I think that’s a way travellers have.’ ‘Don’t be vulgar, Bertha,’ returned Maud quickly. ‘As though Phil would do that!’ ‘He will be here fast enough,’ said Matilda, yawning. ‘What is the use of being so impatient?’ Matilda was in reality as anxious as anyone for the arrival of the traveller, but she assumed an indifference she was far from feeling. A bachelor cousin, the owner of a fine property and a handsome income, was a man of importance in many eyes. To Matilda he was as interesting an individual as the world could hold. ‘Hark!’ cried Maud suddenly; ‘I hear wheels. He is coming. I am sure it is he! Yes, yes; I know it is the dogcart!’ And she made a quick rush towards the door. ‘Come back, Maud!’ said Mrs. Belassis coldly. ‘Wait here till your brother comes.’ ‘Oh, Aunt Celia!’ she remonstrated rebelliously, yet knowing remonstrance was vain. But she had not long to wait. In two minutes the door was thrown open, whilst the servant announced: ‘Mr. Debenham.’ It was not the Phil of Maud’s dreams who now entered—the slight, dark, bright-eyed youth, like the pictures of the former Debenhams which had hung in her old home, and which were all of the type she herself closely resembled. This Phil was much taller, much more strongly built, with tawny hair and sun-browned skin, more like the ideal traveller from far-off lands than the dimly remembered brother of her childhood’s home. But it was Phil himself, her own brother, come back to her at last; and that was enough for Maud. She sprang towards him, put her arms about his neck, and covered his face with kisses. ‘Phil—my own dear, darling Phil! How delightful it is to have you back!’ The traveller took her face between his hands and looked into it with smiling eyes. Then he kissed her on brow and lips. ‘Is it really Maud? little Maud of old days? What a metamorphosis!’ ‘Should you have known me? I am like papa—like all the Debenhams. But you are like nobody—ever so much better-looking. Oh, it is so good to have you back!’ ‘Thanks, little sister; but see, you must introduce me to my aunts and cousins. Remember, I am quite a stranger to them all.’