Jimmie argued. "I'm in favor of each man howling
informally as he listeth."

"Let's drink her health anyhow," David insisted. "I cut out the
Sauterne and the claret, so we could begin on the wine at once in this
contingency. Here's to our beloved and dear absent daughter."

"Long may she wave," Jimmie cried, stumbling to his feet an instant
after the others.

While they were still standing with their glasses uplifted, the bell
rang.

"Don't let anybody in, Alphonse," David admonished him.

They all turned in the direction of the hall, but there was no sound
of parley at the front door. Eleanor had put a warning finger to her
lips, as Alphonse opened it to find her standing there. She stripped
off her hat and her coat as she passed through the drawing-room, and
stood in her little blue cloth traveling dress between the portieres
that separated it from the dining-room. The six stood transfixed at
the sight of her, not believing the vision of their eyes.

"You're drinking my health," she cried, as she stretched out her arms
to them. "Oh! my dears, and my dearests, will you forgive me for
running away from you?"

CHAPTER XXV

THE LOVER

They left her alone with Peter in the drawing room in the interval
before the coffee, seeing that he had barely spoken to her though his
eyes had not left her face since the moment of her spectacular
appearance between the portieres.

"I'm not going to marry you, Peter," Beulah whispered, as she slipped
by him to the door, "don't think of me. Think of her."

But Peter was almost past coherent thought or speech as they stood
facing each other on the hearth-rug,--Eleanor's little head up and her
breath coming lightly between her sweet, parted lips.

"Where did you go?" Peter groaned. "How could you, dear--how could
you,--how could you?"

"I'm back all safe, now, Uncle Peter. I took up nursing in a
hospital."

"I didn't even find you. I swore that I would. I've searched for you
everywhere."

"I'm sorry I made you all that trouble," Eleanor said, "but I thought
it would be the best thing to do."

"Tell me why," Peter said, "tell me why, I've suffered so
much--wondering--wondering."

"You've suffered?" Eleanor cried. "I thought it was only I who did the
suffering."

She moved a step nearer to him, and Peter gripped her hard by the
shoulders.

"It wasn't that you cared?" he said. Then his lips met hers dumbly,
beseechingly.

* * *