e, hoping, perhaps, that a careless
evening would brighten his thoughts.

The chattering streams of life flowing through the main streets of the
thronged city, the clatter of the tramcars, and the thousand noises that
smote the ear fresh from the ancient peace of a remote village, all
frightened the mind back to Hampton, the faces of his friends; and,
oddly as it seemed to Henry, the face that looked oftenest into his was
not one of his own home circle. None of his womenkind had violet eyes.

On reaching the house, Edgar had his usual hunt for his latchkey, and
whether it was the murmur of his conversation with Henry during the
operation of finding the key and applying it, or merely chance that had
brought Flo in her daintiest dress and archest smile into the hall as
the door was opened, cannot be well determined. Certainly there was a
look of delighted surprise on her face when she exclaimed:

"Oh, Mr. Charles, is it really you?" surrendering him her hand, and
allowing it to remain in his. "When did you get back?"

"Only this evening," he replied, clearly conscious that this was a most
attractive young lady, and not a little flattered at the warmth of her
reception. "I arrived at six o'clock."

"How very good of you to come and see us so soon! We ought to consider
ourselves flattered."

"Oh, I had nothing else to do," he murmured ineptly, and was suddenly
conscious that he still held her hand. He dropped it awkwardly.

"I am sure you must have many things to do--a busy man like you."

"It is seldom I have a free evening, so I am glad to use this one in
seeing my old friends." He had recovered aplomb.

"And your old friends are charmed to see you," she returned, with a look
that told she could speak for one of them at least. "You are like one of
the wonders we read about but seldom see. Edgar keeps us posted in news
of you."

She cast down her eyes coyly, as if a sudden thought whispered that she
had said too much, and led the way to the little drawing-room, Henry
pleasantly thrilled with the charm of her voice and the freedom of her
greeting. But strangely enough, another face which lingered in his
memory glowed there again, and the thought that came to him was that its
owner had not been half so cordial in her welcome to him.

CHAPTER XII

"A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL"

THE removing of the Wintons to Laysford had been a distinct change for
the