“I beg your pardon,” she said, remembering with horror that he was not only a stranger but an M.P., “I I don't know what made me say that, but they have always spoken of you by your Christian name, and you have so long been 'Donovan' in my mind that somehow it slipped out you didn't feel like a stranger.” “I am glad of that,” he said, his dark and strangely powerful eyes looking right into hers. Something in that look made her feel positively akin to him. Like a stranger! Of course he had not felt like one. Never could be like anything but a friend. “You see,” he continued, “we have known of each other for years, and we know that we have one great bond of union which others have not. Don't retract the 'Donovan' I like it. Let it be the outward sign of the real and unusual likeness in the fight we have fought.” She still half hesitated. He was a man of five-and-thirty, and she could not get over the feeling that her impulsive exclamation had been presumptuous. He saw her uncertainty, and perhaps liked her the better for it, though the delicious naturalness, the child-like recognition of a real though scarcely known friend, had delighted him. “We are a little more brother and sister than the rest of the world,” he said, with the chivalrous manner which seemed to belong naturally to his peculiarly noble face. “And if I were to confess that I had not always thought of you as 'Miss Raeburn'--” He paused, and Erica laughed. It was absurd to stand on ceremony with this kindred spirit. “Have you seen the conservatory?” he asked. “Shall we come in there? I want to hear all about the Osmonds.” The relief of speaking with one who knew and loved Charles Osmond, and did not, for want of real knowledge, brand him with the names of half a dozen heresies, was very great. It was not for some time that Erica even glanced at the lovely surroundings, though she had inherited Raeburn's great love of flowers. At last, however, an exquisite white flower attracted her notice, and she broke off in the middle of a sentence. “Oh, how lovely! I never saw anything like that before. What is it?” “It is the EUCHARIS AMAZONICA,” replied her companion “About the most exquisite flower in the world, I should think the 'dove flower,' as my little ones call it. Ir you look at it from a distance the stamens really look like doves bending down to drink.” “It is perfect! How I wish my father could see it!” “We have a fairly good one at Oakdene, though not equal to this. We must persuade you and Mr. Raeburn to come and stay with us some day.” The tears came into Erica's eyes, so great was the contrast between his friendliness and the chilling discourtesy she had met with from others that evening. “You are very good,” she said. “If you only knew how hard it is to be treated as if one were a sort of semi-criminal!”