same time she bent her head a very little forward and
gently drew in her breath. The late Captain Dunbar had possessed in
addition to the virtues of a dashing temperament, certain of its
failings, and her cousin's demeanor decidedly reminded her of his
conduct after particularly convivial evenings at the mess. But the test
was reassuring. Her nose was keen, and she noticed nothing--absolutely
nothing.

"What a beastly big barn of a room this is," he began.

She was at a loss quite what to answer. Could he mean this: he who
prided himself on the becoming stateliness of his house?

"Oh, I think it is a very fine and--and--impressive room, Heriot," she
answered guardedly.

"It's too big and gloomy for a widower. It makes one feel kind of
lonely."

The widow smiled sweetly. She quite understood what he meant now. The
reminiscence of the late Captain Dunbar faded away, and once more she
was sympathy itself.

"Are you often lonely?" she inquired softly.

He looked up into her face with a curious hint of boyishness in his
face.

"Not while you are here, Madge."

Again a species of divine instinct possessed Mr. Walkingshaw. Without
permission asked or given, he took his fair cousin's hand and gently
held it. At the same time a longing to be confidential invaded him. He
had a really prime secret to share with her.

"I am going up to London to-morrow morning!" he announced.

It did not surprise her that business should take him up to town; it did
that his eyes should twinkle at the prospect. She began to feel a trifle
less sympathetic.

"Oh," she said, "why are you going?"

For a moment he hesitated. Could he venture to confide in her? The young
and amorous Heriot said, "Of course! Such a divinity will be all
sympathy." But the senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower
emphatically retorted. "Never tell a woman what you don't want the whole
town to know!" He was still old enough to obey the more prudent
counselor.

"I'm going to see my old friend Colonel Munro."

Decidedly Mr. Walkingshaw was fast acquiring that quick adaptation to
circumstances which is the hall-mark of youth. He had not thought of his
old friend Charlie Munro for the last year or more, and here he was
coming in most usefully just when he was wanted. Heriot recognized with
a touch of awe his own unwonted fertility.

"Don't tell any one!" he added, and then immediately realized that at
the same time he must be losing a little of that valua