e door: "Was holding it," he
corrected. "He's squirming like an eel now and making grimaces that
frightened me. Better hurry to him, Josephine!" He went directly to his
wife, and his voice was filled with an infinite tenderness as he
slipped an arm about her and caressed her smooth hair with one of his
big hands. "You're tired, aren't you?" he asked gently. "The jaunt was
almost too much for my little girl, wasn't it? It will do you good to
see the baby before you go to bed. Won't you come, Miriam?"

Josephine alone saw the look in Philip's face. And for one moment
Philip forgot himself as he stared at John Adare and his wife. Beside
this flowerlike slip of a woman Adare was more than ever a giant, and
his eyes glowed with the tenderness that was in his voice. Miriam's
lips trembled in a smile as she gazed up at her husband. In her eyes
shone a responsive gentleness; and then Philip turned to find Josephine
looking at him from the door, her lips drawn in a straight, tense line,
her face as white as the bit of lace at her throat. He hurried to her.
Behind him rumbled the deep, joyous voice of the master of Adare House,
and passing through the door he glanced behind and saw them following,
Adare's arm about his wife's waist. Josephine caught Philip's arm, and
whispered in a low voice:

"They are always like that, always lovers. They are like two wonderful
children, and sometimes I think it is too beautiful to be true. And now
that you have met them I am going to ask you to go to your room. You
have been my true knight--more than I dared to hope, and to-morrow--"

She interrupted herself as Adare and his wife appeared at the door.

"To-morrow?" he persisted.

"I will try and thank you," she replied. Then she said, and Philip saw
she spoke directly to her father: "You will excuse Philip, won't you,
Mon Pere? I will go with you, for I have taken the care of baby from
Moanne to-night. Her husband is sick."

Adare shook hands with Philip.

"I'm up mornings before the owls have gone to sleep," he said. "Will
you breakfast with me? I'm afraid that if you wait for Miriam and
Mignonne you will go hungry. They will sleep until noon to make up for
to-night."

"Nothing would suit me better," declared Philip. "Will you knock at my
door if I fail to show up?"

Adare was about to answer, but caught himself suddenly as he looked
from Philip to Josephine.

"What! this soon, Mignonne?" he demanded, chuckling in his beard. "Your