uld have been sorry to lose the book," remarked Malcolm
sympathetically, as they went into the house.

"Yes," returned Elizabeth hurriedly, "it was given to me by a friend."
And then she bade him good-night.

Dinah followed her into her room. "I am so glad you found it, Betty
dear," she said kindly. "It was the copy David gave you at Christmas,
was it not?" Elizabeth nodded.

"I do so love it," she said frankly; "and the limp leather binding and
red edges are just to my taste. I always care so much more for books
that are given me than for those I buy myself." Elizabeth spoke with
such complete unconsciousness that Dinah thought she had made a mistake
in imagining that she specially prized the book.

"Oh, I want to tell you, dear, how very kind Mr. Herrick has been." And
then with many little feminine interpolations Dinah related the
substance of their conversation. She was almost childishly pleased when
Elizabeth graciously approved of Malcolm's suggestion.

"It really is a good idea, Die."

"And to think it never entered our heads! Don't you wonder Mr. Carlyon
never thought of it?"

"Well, you see he has never taken Cedric's future into serious
consideration. But what fun it would be! We would furnish his rooms so
beautifully, and we could stay with him sometimes. And when he married
we could build him a house that would be the envy of all the masters.
Fancy Cedric marrying and our having a dear little sister-in-law of our
own."

"Oh, how I shall love her!" murmured Dinah with a happy little coo of
satisfaction. This was not the first time they had talked on the
subject. That her darling would marry, and that she would dearly love
his wife, was a foregone conclusion to Dinah.

The little fair-haired girl of her dreams was not Tina Ross, nor even
pretty Nora Brent--no one that Dinah knew was quite good enough for her
boy.

"You ridiculous grannie," Elizabeth once said to her, for she and
Cedric often called her grannie, probably from her careful, loving,
old-womanish ways, "do you suppose such a rara avis exists in
Earlsfield or Rotherwood? Let me see," ticking off each qualification
on her fingers, "young Mrs. Cedric Templeton must be pretty--oh, very
pretty; fair, because Cedric has a fancy for fair women with blue eyes;
not tall--oh, decidedly not tall; petite, graceful, and je ne sais
quoi--"

"Now, Betty--"

"Betty has not finished, and does not like to be interrupted. This
Blanche--shall we call