y say. But we are proud of you here."

"Perhaps that maxim is not always true, although it is biblical. In my
own case, I fear there is at least one at Hampton who thinks too much of
my ability."

"Ah, now you have said it. And who is that one, pray?"

"My father."

"Oh! No one else?"

"My mother and sisters, perhaps."

"I should so much like to meet your sisters. I almost feel as if I knew
them already. Who knows but some day I may have a peep at your Sleepy
Hollow, and tell your sisters all about you!"

The prospect was an alarming one to Henry, and for the first time in his
life he felt himself ashamed of that little home behind the Post Office
door. But on the whole, the chatter of this young lady was pleasant in
his ears. By no means vain of his abilities, he was still hungry for
appreciation, and he had not yet learned the most difficult of all
lessons: to recognise sincere admiration. It seemed to him that in Flo
Winton he had found one who understood him, whose sympathetic interest
in his work and ambitions could brace and hearten him in the discharge
of the important duties to which there was every likelihood of his being
called before he was a day older.

The return of Mrs. Winton to the drawing-room sent the talk off at an
obtuse angle, and Edgar, having finished that important letter, came in
to render the remainder of the evening hopeless to Flo; but when Henry
parted from her in the hall with another lingering hand-shake, he had
the feeling that something like an understanding had been established
between them; and it was with a springy stride and a light heart he
passed out to the nearest tramway station.

The next afternoon he looked in at the office, and found the manager
anxious to speak with him. It was even as Edgar had prophesied. Sir
Henry Field was understood to think so highly of Henry's work that he
agreed with Mr. Jones in offering him the editorship at a commencing
salary of L250 a year. A bright young member of the reporting staff was
named as his assistant. "If Sir Henry should ask your age," Mr. Jones
advised, "you are getting on for thirty. You would pass for that, and I
have confidence in you."

Henry found himself returning to his rooms as one who walked on eggs,
murmuring to himself, with comic iteration: "Two hundred and fifty a
year! two hundred and fifty a year!" And he saw arising in Hampton Bagot
a fine new villa, the pride of the place, to be inhabited by Edward John