ps.

"I thought you were not coming," he said. "I expected to meet you here
and I was horribly disappointed. I thought the bitterness of that
foolish old quarrel must be strong enough to sway you yet."

"Didn't Bella tell you I had a headache?" faltered Beatrice.

"Bella? Oh, your brother's wife! I wasn't talking to her. I've been
sulking in corners ever since I concluded you were not coming. How
beautiful you are, Beatrice! You'll let an old friend say that much,
won't you?"

Beatrice laughed softly. She had forgotten for years that she was
beautiful, but the sweet old knowledge had come back to her again. She
could not help knowing that he spoke the simple truth, but she said
mirthfully,

"You've learned to flatter since the old days, haven't you? Don't you
remember you used to tell me I was too thin to be pretty? But I
suppose a bit of blarney is a necessary ingredient in the composition
of an M.P."

He was still holding her hand. With a glance of dissatisfaction at the
open parlour door, he drew her away to the little room at the end of
the hall, which Mrs. Cunningham, for reasons known only to herself,
called her library.

"Come in here with me," he said masterfully. "I want to have a long
talk with you before the other people get hold of you."

When Beatrice got home from the party ten minutes before her brother
and his wife, Margaret was sitting Turk fashion in the big armchair,
with her eyes very wide open and owlish.

"You dear girlie, were you asleep?" asked Aunt Beatrice indulgently.

Margaret nodded. "Yes, and I've let the fire go out. I hope you're not
cold. I must run before Aunt Bella gets here, or she'll scold. Had a
nice time?"

"Delightful. You were a dear to lend me this dress. It was so funny to
see Bella staring at it."

When Margaret had put on her hat and jacket she went as far as the
street door, and then tiptoed back to the sitting-room. Aunt Beatrice
was leaning back in the armchair, with a drooping rose held softly
against her lips, gazing dreamily into the dull red embers.

"Auntie," said Margaret contritely, "I can't go home without
confessing, although I know it is a heinous offence to interrupt the
kind of musing that goes with dying embers and faded roses in the
small hours. But it would weigh on my conscience all night if I
didn't. I was asleep, but I wakened up just before you came in and
went to the window. I didn't mean to spy upon anyone--but that street
was bright