with a certain foreign
grace, which struck the eye even more than her beauty. But it was
neither the grace nor the beauty that was first to be seen now; it was
the light of love in the large dark eyes, the soft fire of joy and
tenderness and mirth that shone from them, and seemed to irradiate her
whole figure as she stood there, erect, yet seeming to sway forward, her
hand on the door, her eyes bent on the group before her. Her gaze
wandered for a moment to the guests: the revolving boys, Grace and Hugh
in their quiet corner together, Jean staring with open eyes and mouth;
but after a wondering look, it came back and settled again on the
central group, Mr. Montfort, in his great armchair, Peggy and Margaret
each on a stool beside him, leaning against his knees. Was the group
complete? or was there room for another by that good man's side?

Jean was the first to look up and see the newcomer. She started
violently. "My goodness!" she cried, "who is that?" The next instant a
cry rang out, as Margaret and Peggy sprang forward, "Rita! Rita!"

But Rita was too quick for them. Before they were well on their feet she
had them both in her arms, and was weeping, sobbing, laughing, and
kissing, all in a breath. With the next breath she had sunk at Mr.
Montfort's feet, and, seizing his hand, pressed it passionately to her
lips.

"My dear child," cried Uncle John, blushing like a girl, and drawing
away his hand in great discomposure. "Don't, my love; pray don't. Rita!
is it possible that this is really you? What does it mean?"

"What does it mean, my uncle? It means that even in Cuba we know the
days of the month. Dearest and best of men, I wish you a thousand
returns of the day,--five, ten thousand returns, and each one more
blissful than the last. Marguerite, my angel, you are more beautiful
than ever. Angel is no longer the word; you are a seraph! Embrace me
again! Peggy, you are a mountain; but a veritable mountain of roses and
cream! Dear little huge creature, I adore you. But where, then, is the
rest of me? Jack! Figure to yourself a husband who skulks in doorways at
a moment like this! Come forth, thou!"

Jack Del Monte advanced laughing; behind him in the passage the three
conspirators, Frances, Elizabeth, and Bannan, peered triumphant. "My
dear," said Jack, "I was merely waiting for my cue. You would not have
had me spoil your entrance, you know you would not. Uncle John--I may
say Uncle John? thanks!--I hope you will