e was, of course, her
daily letter from Gore--the most precious thing in her existence--and
there was also her daily letter to him. But even a woman in love cannot
read and write--or even dream--all day; and in the intervals of
idleness there invariably seemed to be--Deerehurst.

But now at last the day had arrived upon which Gore was to return to
London. It was four o'clock in the afternoon; the hot summer air was
beating upon the green-and-white sunblinds of the flat; and Nance was
standing at a table in the window, arranging a bowl of heliotrope, when
Clodagh opened the door of the drawing-room.

She was dressed in her riding habit; her riding crop was under one arm;
and as she came forward into the room she was drawing off a pair of
chamois gloves.

"He hasn't come?" she asked quickly. "Oh, I'm so glad! I was terrified
that that last gallop might have made me late! How lovely life is!" She
came quickly across the room; and, linking her arm in Nance's, buried
her face in the heliotrope.

"How lovely life is! And summer! And flowers! Do you know, the sun
to-day made me long for Orristown. Think of it all, Nance! Burke and
Hannah, and Polly and the dogs! Oh, we must all go there together--you
and I, and Pierce and Walter----" She paused suddenly and looked at her
sister.

"Nance! You're cross!"

Nance refused to look up.

"Nance, you're cross!" Her voice was less sure--less confident.

Nance caught the tone of hesitancy, and turned quickly round.

"I wish Walter had driven through the park ten minutes ago," she said.
"I do--I really, really do."

Clodagh's face flamed, and she drew away from her sister.

"And I wish----" she began hotly. Then she paused.

The door of the drawing-room was thrown open; and Gore was announced.

For one instant, Clodagh stood hesitating with a new and charming
diffidence; the next, all thoughts of self were blotted out by the
consciousness of his presence--his bright, strong presence, typified by
his frank eyes, his clear, healthy skin, his close-cropped fair hair.
With a little exclamation of greeting, she hurried towards him.

In quick, warm response, he took both her hands.

"Well!" he said--"well! It's good to see you! How splendid you look!
And Nance, too!" He turned to the window with quiet cordiality.

"Can Nance find time to shake hands with a mere Englishman?"

Nance laid down the bunch of heliotrope she was still holding.

And at the same moment, Clodagh loo