g Phyllis with her furs.

It was arranged he should call early the following morning. They
exchanged significant looks, and he was gone. A ring, set with
old-fashioned garnets, was left in the hand he had pressed; one of his
mother's rings, worn on his watch-chain. Phyllis seized Burbage and
danced her up and down the hall and back again, demoralizing the rugs.
Then, having picked up her muff and thrown it at her, Phyllis raced up
the stairs.

IV

Sir Peter was gruff at the breakfast table. The hurriedly written
telegram, or his hasty reading of it, had led him a wild-goose chase. To
find your host concealing surprise as he shakes hands, and to learn, at
the end of ten minutes of feverish cordiality, that you were invited to
dine the following night, is never comfortable, even at the home of an
old friend. When two hours on a train each way are involved, and loss of
one's sleep as well----! A bleak east wind, this morning, too, and Sir
Peter was Jarndyced as to that quarter.

Worst of all, Phyllis looked like her mother, with her hair over her
ears, like that; the likeness always irritated Sir Peter, but this
morning it was particularly striking.

He accepted her morning endearments graciously, but Phyllis was glad the
toast wasn't cold. She recognized unpropitious portents.

John was shown into the library at ten, sharp; his chin had come to his
rescue. He gave Phyllis a bright look, and led up to the business in
hand promptly.

Sir Peter, savoring his cigar, "The Times" spread over his knees,
invited the young man to be seated; the young man preferred to stand,
and did, very straight, his back to the fireplace. His eyes were large
and serious his color high; his hands were behind him and the nervous
fingers couldn't be seen. Phyllis viewed her champion with approving
eyes, and sat on the edge of her chair.

"I am afraid my errand won't be an agreeable one to you, sir," John
began. "I am sure it wouldn't be to me if--if I were you. But I must
tell you my story from the beginning, if you are willing. You knew my
father and something of my family. The people of his parish were
tremendously fond of him. He gave them all of himself. He died poor, of
course, and left me a good name and two hundred pounds a year. The
countryside came to his funeral. The faces of the men were streaked with
tears, as they stood by his grave, and women wept openly. I had letters
of sympathy from every county in England, from C