ff. Roland was
waiting for her. He took her in his arms and kissed her with an eager
and delighted affection; and though the fog had changed to a soft
rain, neither of them appeared to be uncomfortably aware of the fact.
Denas drew the hood of her waterproof over her head and Roland the
heavy collar of his coat about his ears, and they sat close together
on the damp rock, with Roland's umbrella over them.

There was so much to say that they really said nothing. When they had
but half finished repeating "Sweet Denas!" and "Dear Roland!" Denas
had to go. It was only then she found courage to intimate, in a
half-frightened way, that she had been thinking and wondering about
her voice, and if she really could learn to sing. Roland flushed with
delight to find the seed he had sown with so much doubt grown up to
strength and ripeness.

"My lovely one!" he answered, "you must go to London and have lessons;
and I will take care of you. I will see that you have justice and that
no one hurts you."

"But where could I live? And how? I have one hundred pounds of my own.
Will that be enough?"

"You little capitalist! How did you get a hundred pounds?"

"Father has put a few pounds in the bank at St. Merryn every year
since I was born for me, and I have put there all the money your
sister paid me. Father said it was to furnish my home when I got
married, but I would rather spend it on my voice."

"I should think so. Well, Beauty, you are to come and see Elizabeth
off Wednesday; then I shall have something sweet and wonderful to say
to you."

"Will Elizabeth send for me? That would make it easy."

"I do not think Elizabeth will send for you. I have been hoping for
that. She has not named you at all. For my sake, come to the Court on
Wednesday."

"It is a long way to walk, but for your sake I will come."

Then they parted, and she hastened back and reached home just as John
and Joan were beginning to be uneasy at her delay. The sight of her
happy face, the charming little fuss she made about her dripping
waterproof and her wet shoes, the perfectly winning way in which she
took possession of her father's knee and from it warmed her bare rosy
feet at the blaze scattered all shadows. She took their fears and
nascent anger by storm; she exhibited her many-coloured bits of cloth,
and showed John the pictures in the story paper, and coaxingly begged
her mother for a cup of tea, because she was cold and hungry. And
then, as Joan