After a while steps were heard on the stairs and in came Macneillie and Ralph with apologies for having kept her so long. Macneillie, who was a man with a strong shrinking from any sort of change in his surroundings, felt a pang as he reflected that soon there would be no bright-faced little housekeeper waiting to welcome him, and making a home out of each place they stayed at in their wandering life. He stood warming himself by the fire noticing dreamily the mute caress which passed between husband and wife, the funny way in which Evereld divided her attention between the perfect toasting of a particular slice of bread, and the discussion of the way in which Orlando had carried Adam in the forest banquet scene, and then her half anxious glance in his direction which seemed to say, “I know you are tired and out of spirits but you shall not be bothered with questions, you shall be fed.” She made them laugh at supper over Barry Sterne’s travelling companion who had been sure that Shakspere was a most immoral writer, but she could see that something was troubling Ralph, for instead of being the life of the party he was silent and abstracted. Macneillie soon solved the mystery, and turning to her with one of his humourous smiles, said, “I am sure you would think to look at him that he had dismally failed or had been half slaughtered by the critics. I assure you, my dear, it’s nothing of the sort. He has just had the offer of a very good London engagement.” “What, from Mr. Sterne?” asked Evereld in amazement. “Yes, they brought out a new piece you know on Easter Monday and it seems that Jack Carrington is again going to prove Ralph’s good genius by failing altogether to get hold of the part he has to play. The fact is, Carrington is excellent as far as he goes, but his range is limited, he feels that he will never succeed in this play and Sterne sees it too. They are parting quite amicably, and he wants Ralph to take his place.” “I can’t leave you, Governor,” said Ralph with a vibration in his voice which made the tears start to Evereld’s eyes. “Oh no,” she said eagerly. “Don’t let us go--why we belong to you now.” “My dear child,” said Macneillie, “don’t you go and encourage him in refusing an offer which he ought to jump at. We have been arguing the matter ever since we parted with Barry Sterne at the station and nothing can I get out of Ralph but protests which quite take me back to Mrs. Micawber. The fact is you two read Dickens to such an extent that you are quite saturated with him. This is an excellent offer and ought to be accepted.” “But I never will, no I never will desert Mr. Macneillie!” quoted Evereld merrily. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? You always pretend that you miss us when we are away.”