ondon:
there's a good case coming on at the Law Courts; he says I shall be
counsel for it if I'm in town. What do you say to coming back to London
on Saturday, Hilda?"

"You know I shall be only too delighted; I am just pining to be home
again. Do you think we could go down to the Rectory? I should so like to
spend Sunday there."

"My darling, what are you thinking of? I want to be in London, not in
Hampshire. Now that I have got you, sweetheart, I must neglect no chance
of work."

Hilda's face turned slightly pale.

"Of course, darling," she said, looking up sweetly at her tall husband;
"but where are we to go on Saturday night? You spoke of going home."

"And so we are going home, my love--or rather we are going toward home;
but as we have not taken a house yet, we must spend a week with the
Malverns when first we get to England. I will send a line to my aunt,
and tell her to expect us on Saturday."

Hilda said nothing more. She smothered the ghost of a sigh, and sitting
down by the wood fire, which, notwithstanding the genial weather, was
acceptable enough in their lofty room, began to open her letters. The
Rectory budget was of course first attended to. It contained several
inclosures--one from her father, which was short and principally
occupied over a review of the last new theological book he had been
reading, one from Aunt Marjorie, and one from Miss Mills.

"None from Judy," said Hilda, in a voice of surprise; "she has only
written to me once since we were married."

She spoke aloud, and looked up at her husband for sympathy. He was
reading a letter of his own, and its contents seemed to amuse him, for
he broke into a hearty laugh.

"What is it, Jasper?" asked Hilda. "What is amusing you?"

"Something Rivers has said, my love. I'll tell you presently. Capital
fellow he is; if I get this brief I shall be in tremendous luck."

Hilda opened Aunt Marjorie's letter and began to read. The old lady was
a somewhat rambling correspondent. Her letters were always closely
written and voluminous. Hilda had to strain her young eyes to decipher
all the sentences.

"I must say I dislike poverty [wrote Aunt Marjorie]; you are
well out of it, Hilda. It is my private conviction that your
father has absolutely forgotten that his income has jumped down
in a single day from three thousand three hundred and fifty
pounds a year to the three hundred and fifty without the odd
thousands; he goes o