stion, which naturally did not appear to any
well-regulated mind to harmonize with what had gone before, restored
voice to Miss Bussey.

"What's the matter with you? Are you mad?" she demanded.

John sat down beside her. His friends anticipated a distinguished
Parliamentary career for John; he could make anything sound reasonable.
Miss Bussey was fascinated by his suave and fluent narrative of what
had befallen Mary and himself; she could not but admire his just
remarks on the providential disclosure of the true state of the case
before it was too late, and sympathized with the picture of suffering
nobly suppressed which grew under his skilful hand; she was inflamed
when he ardently declared his purpose of seeking out Dora; she was
touched when he kissed Mary's hand and declared that the world held no
nobler woman. Before John's eloquence even the stern facts of a public
engagement, of invited guests, of dresses ordered and presents
received, lost their force, and the romantic spirit, rekindled, held
undivided sway in Miss Bussey's heart.

"But," she said, "why does Mary talk of going to Cannes with you?"

"Mr. Ellerton is at Cannes, Aunt," murmured Mary, shyly.

"But you can't travel with John."

"Oh, but you must come too."

"It looks as if you were running after him."

"I'll chance Charlie thinking that," cried Mary, clasping her hands in
glee.

Miss Bussey pretended to be reluctant to undertake the journey, but she
was really quite ready to yield, and soon everything was settled on the
new basis.

"And now to write and tell people," said Miss Bussey. "That's the worst
part of it."

"Poor dear! We'll help," cried Mary. "But I must write to Cannes."

"Wire!" cried John.

"Of course, wire!" echoed Mary.

"The first thing tomorrow."

"Before breakfast."

"Mary, I shall never forget----."

"No, John, it's you who----." and they went off in a torrent of mutual
laudation.

Miss Bussey shook her head.

"If they think all that of one another why don't they marry?" she said.

CHAPTER IV

THE TALE OF A POSTMARK

"Yes," said Lady Deane, "we leave today week: Roger has to be back the
first week in May, and I want to stop at one or two places en route."

"Let's see. To-day's the 19th, no, the 20th; there's nothing to remind
one of time here. That'll be the 27th. That's about my date; we might
go together if you and Deane have no objection."

"Oh, I should be delighted, General; and shall you