ol, round cheek
to-night as if with a swan's-down puff.

"That's a shabby thing to call a kiss!" said the embarrassed but
exhilarated youth.

"Stop growling, you young cub, and be grateful; half a loaf is better
than no bread," was Lavendar's comment as he watched the draggled and
muddy but still charming Robinette up the stairway.

XIV

THE EMPTY SHRINE

Lavendar had discovered, much to his dismay, that he must return to
London upon important business; it was even a matter of uncertainty
whether his father could spare him again or would consent to his
returning to Stoke Revel to conclude Mrs. de Tracy's arrangements
about the sale of the land.

Affairs of the heart are like thunderstorms; the atmosphere may
sometimes seem charged with electricity, and yet circumstances, like a
sudden wind that sweeps the clouds away before they break, may cause
the lovers to drift apart. Or all in a moment may come thunder,
lightning, and rain from a clear sky, and there is nothing that is apt
to precipitate matters like an unexpected parting.

When Lavendar announced that he had to leave Stoke Revel, two pairs
of eyes, Miss Smeardon's and Carnaby's, instantly looked at Robinette
to see how she received the news, but she only smiled at the moment.
She was just beginning her breakfast, and like the famous Charlotte,
"went on cutting bread and butter," without any sign of emotion.

"Hurrah!" thought the boy. "Now we can have some fun, and I'll perhaps
make her see that old Lavendar isn't the only companion in the
world."

"She minds," thought Miss Smeardon, "for she buttered that piece of
bread on the one side a minute ago, and now she's just done it on the
other--and eaten it too."

"She doesn't care a bit," thought Lavendar. "She's not even changed
colour; my going or staying is nothing to her; I needn't come back."

He had made up his mind to return just the same, if it were at all
possible, and he told Mrs. de Tracy so. She remarked graciously that
he was a welcome guest at any time, and Carnaby, hearing this,
pinched Lord Roberts till he howled like a fiend, and fled for comfort
to his mistress's lap.

"You little coward," said Carnaby, "you should be ashamed to bear the
name of a hero."

"I've mentioned to you before, Carnaby, I think, that I dislike that
jest," said his grandmother, and Carnaby advancing to the injured
beast said, "Yes, ma'am, and so does Bobs, doesn't he, Bobs?" reducing
the lap-dog to