I’m sorry to be so silly, Peggy, but all this time I have been longing and longing to see you, and thinking that it would be just the same as in the old days; but, oh, Peggy, we’ve led such different lives, and it’s not the same—oh, it’s not the same at all! I have stood still, but you have moved on, and there’s such a big, big difference. I realised it all of a sudden, and began to cry like a baby, but it’s not your fault. It’s only because I am so fond—so fond of you, Peggy, and so sorry to think—”

“You dear, sweet goose! Stop crying this minute, and listen to me. There is no difference between us, and it’s going to be exactly the same. You are Mellicent Asplin, and I’m Peggy Saville, and after my very own people I love the dear old vicaragers more than any one else in the world. I never change in my affections, and in other respects the day may yet dawn, my love, when you may wish that I had altered considerably more than I have. Will it help you to recognise me if I pull your hair, eli?—or tickle you under the chin, eh?—or give a nice little jolt to your elbow just as you lift your cup, eh?” cried Peggy, illustrating each inquiry in practical fashion, while Mellicent giggled in the midst of tears, and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

“D–o–on’t! You’ll spoil my dress. Oh, Peggy, it is good of you, and I did so want to come, and will you really promise not to be ashamed of me, if I make stupid mistakes, and look dowdy and horrid when we go out together?”

“I’ll be ashamed of you, and furious into the bargain, if you hint at such a thing again. I’m not a snob, thank goodness! Now sit up, my dear, and drop sentiment, and attend to tea. Take a cress sandwich, and don’t cry over it, I beseech you! If there is one thing more objectionable than another, it is wet salad. Tell me all about home, and every one in it. Are they looking forward to my advent, and is cook remembering my favourite puddings? I’ve got a present for every one—such a beautiful white shawl for Mrs Asplin, a tiger skin for your father’s study, some old manuscripts for Esther, as I could not think of anything she would like better, and—”

“And what for—How very nice! So kind of you, Peggy, to think of us!” protested Mellicent, drawing herself up with sudden recollection, but palpitating with curiosity to hear what her own share might be. “Esther hopes to get home while you are with us, but she can’t tear herself from her precious pupils for more than a week. She has three little boys whom she is training for school, and teaching Latin and Greek and mathematics and all sorts of horrid things. 

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