as that of an angel or a saint! All these reflections
rushed through his mind in an instant, and it was almost a wonder that
he did not blurt some of them out at once. But Lesley went on speaking
in a quiet, pensive way.

"I wonder whether I can do anything--while I am here. I shall not have
so very long a time, but I might try."

"Not so long a time, Miss Brooke? I thought you had come home for good."

"Only for a year," said Lesley, coloring hotly. "Then I go back to
mamma."

Maurice said nothing at first. He felt the hand that rested on his arm
tremble slightly, and he knew that he ought to make no more inquiries.
But he could not refrain from adding, almost jealously--

"You will be glad of that?"

"Oh, yes! You do not know my mother?" said Lesley, half shyly, half
boldly.

"No, I never saw her."

"It is very hard to be so long away from her. She is so sweet and good."

"But you have your father? You are learning to know _him_ now."

"Oh, yes, but I want them _both_," said Lesley, with an indescribably
gentle and tender intonation. And as they reached Euston Road and were
obliged to leave off talking while they threaded their way through the
intricacies of vehicular traffic, Mr. Kenyon was revolving in his mind a
new idea, namely, the possibility of a reconciliation between Brooke and
his wife. He had never thought much about Lady Alice before: she seemed
to him to have passed out of Caspar Brooke's life entirely; and if it
were not for this link between the two--this sweet and noble-spirited
and lovely girl--she would not have been likely to come back into it.
But Lesley might perhaps reunite the two, and Maurice's heart began to
burn within him with fear for his hero's happiness. Why should any Lady
Alice trouble the peace of a worker for mankind like Caspar Brooke?

They did not talk very much more on their way to Upper Woburn Place.
They found Ethel and Oliver standing on the steps of Mr. Brooke's house,
evidently waiting for the truants. It struck Lesley as she came up that
Oliver Trent's brow was ominously dark, and that Ethel's pretty, saucy
face wore an expression of something like anxiety or distress.

"We are almost tired of waiting for you, good people," she began
merrily. "Fortunately it is fine and warm, or we should have gone and
left you to your own devices, as Mr. Brooke and Rosalind have done."

"Where have they gone?" asked Maurice.

"Walked off to her house. Miss Brooke is at home.