n she could beat him easily were he
handicapped by partnership with Mollie; but in genuine singles, when
Mollie had tactfully collapsed on to a seat and declared herself
exhausted, his swift agility counterbalanced her magnificent service,
and they were so evenly matched that each game proved a keen delight----

In the quiet teas beneath the mulberry tree, where the incomprehensible
atmosphere of unspoken tenderness gilded the light words and laughter,
as sunlight touches leaf and flower to gold----

At the cosy dinners, to which they sometimes asked him, sitting in the
garden afterwards in the moonlight; when he would tell them thrilling
tales of aviation, describing his initial flights, hairbreadth escapes;
the joys of rapid soaring; the dangers of cross-currents, broken
propellers, or twisted steering-gear----

On all these occasions, the Boy--with his enthusiasm, his fun, and his
fire--had been the life of the happy trio.

During those evenings, in the moonlight, when he started off on
airships, one heart stood still very often while the Boy talked; but it
stood still, silently. It was Mollie who clasped her hands and
implored him never to fly again; then, in the next breath, begged him
to take her as a passenger, on the first possible occasion.

Happy days! But Mollie was the attraction; therefore, with Mollie's
departure, they would naturally come to an end.

The Boy had not asked if he might come again; and, for the moment, she
forgot that the Boy rarely asked for what he wanted. He usually took
it.

She had a lonely luncheon; spent the afternoon over letters and
accounts, picking up the dull threads of things laid aside during the
gay holiday time.

It was not the Professor's day for calling. She was alone until four.
Then she went out and sat under the mulberry. The garden was very
quiet. The birds' hour of silence was barely over.

Jenkins, the butler, had been sent into the town, so Martha brought out
tea; as ample, as carefully arranged, as ever; and--cups for two!

"Why two cups, Martha?" queried Miss Charteris, languidly.

"Maybe there'll be a visitor," said Martha in grim prophetic tones.
Then her hard old face relaxed and creased into an unaccustomed smile.
"Maybe there is a visitor," she added, softly; for at that moment the
postern gate banged, and they saw the Boy coming up the garden, in a
shaft of sunlight.

The Aunt walked quickly to meet him. His arrival was so unexpected;
an