which had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite of his weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought, than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing about the episode of Cassandra’s call, — possibly for the time it was forgotten, — but as they parted for the night, when they were alone together, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of his marriage.

“We have had a visit from Lady Clara Temple,” she said.

David lay upon a divan with his hands clasped beneath his head, and the light from a reading lamp streamed upon his sunny hair, which always looked as if some playful breeze had just lifted it. His whole frame had the sinewy appearance of energy and power. His mother’s heart swelled