anticipation.

Cleone saw him coming. She was seated in the parlour window, embroidering in a languid fashion. Truth to tell, she was tired of her own company and not at all averse from seeing Philip. As he passed the window she bent forward a little, smiling down at him. Philip saw her at once; indeed, he had been eyeing every window of the warm, red house in the hope that she might be sitting in one. He reined in his horse and bowed to her, hat in hand.

Cleone opened the casement wider, leaning over the sill, her golden curls falling forward under the strings of her cap.

"Why, sir, are you back already?" she asked, dimpling.

"Already!" he echoed. "It has been years! Ten years, Cleone!"

"Pooh!" she said. "Ten days—not a moment more!"

"Is that all it has seemed to you?" he said.

Cleone's cheek became faintly tinged with pink.

"What more?" she retorted. "'Tis all it is!"

Into Philip's eyes came a gleam of triumph.

"Aha! You've counted, then! Oh, Cleone!"

The roguish look fled.

"Oh!" cried Cleone, pouting. "How—how—monstrous—"

"Monstrous what, dear Cleone?"

"Impudent!" she ended. "I declare I won't see you!" As if to add weight to this statement, she shut the casement and moved away into the room.

Presently, however, she relented, and tripped downstairs to the withdrawing-room, where she found Mr. Jettan paying his respects to her mamma. She curtseyed very demurely, allowed him to kiss the tips of her fingers, and seated herself beside Madam Charteris.

Madam patted her hand.

"Well, child, here is Philip returned from Town 

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