“Why what is the special merit of a ‘Hall?’” asked Evereld laughing. “Goodness only knows. I often wish those worthy but illogical folk could feel the discomforts and the woeful plight the company often find themselves in behind the scenes, with perhaps a couple of dressing-rooms for the whole lot of them, and no possible place in which to put their clothes. They would soon realise the advantages of proper theatres.” “Have you seen your good notice in the Southbourne Weekly News?” said Evereld, glancing at the paper with loving pride. “Yes. It’s rather decent, isn’t it? I always cut out and keep press notices for Mr. Macneillie. Sharing his lodgings there are a good many small things of that sort one can do for him.” “Who does the catering?” “Oh, he does all that. He is a first-rate hand at marketing, having had so much practice.” “I shall have to come to him for lessons, some day,” said Evereld, blushing vividly as she realised what the words involved. Whereupon Ralph forgot all about fortunes and guardians and time and patience, and taking her in his arms kissed her passionately. That was their real parting, or rather the silent pledge that nothing could really part them. Ralph lingered for some little time afterwards in the next room talking with the others, and as usual there was the cheerful Irish babel of many voices, for no one thought in that household of talking one at a time. Then having received a kindly invitation from Mrs. Hereford to come and see them either in London or at Hollybrack, he took his departure, and with the memory of Evereld’s love to cheer him on his way, rejoined Macneillie’s company at the station. “That is a case I suppose,” said Max Hereford finding himself just then alone with his wife. “I thought you would guess it,” she said smiling. “You were always a matchmaker at heart, Doreen,” he said teasingly. “But how about this guardian in the background? He will be playing the Assyrian and coming down on you like the wolf on the fold.” “I can’t help it if he does,” said Mrs. Hereford, laughter lurking in her eyes. “Really and truly I have not been match-making. It’s ridiculous for Sir Matthew Mactavish to allow his ward to be brought up for six years with such a boy as that, and then to take me to task for allowing the two old friends to meet in a rational way, and after all if he is annoyed I believe I should rather like it, for you know Max I always did detest that man.” “Yes, dear, we all know that you are the best hater in the world, and I know that you are the best lover,” he said stooping to kiss her.