‘That was me!’ he added, looking out at us, through the half-opened door, as we stood waiting in the road. ‘And that’s what I’d have done—as sure as potatoes aren’t radishes—if she hadn’t have tooken herself off! But I always loves my pay-rints like anything.’

      ‘Who are oor pay-rints?’ said Bruno.

      ‘Them as pay rint for me, a course!’ the Gardener replied. ‘You can come in now, if you like.’

      He flung the door open as he spoke, and we got out, a little dazzled and stupefied (at least I felt so) at the sudden transition from the half-darkness of the railway-carriage to the brilliantly-lighted platform of Elveston Station.

      A footman, in a handsome livery, came forwards and respectfully touched his hat. ‘The carriage is here, my Lady,’ he said, taking from her the wraps and small articles she was carrying: and Lady Muriel, after shaking hands and bidding me ‘Good-night!’ with a pleasant smile, followed him.

      It was with a somewhat blank and lonely feeling that I betook myself to the van from which the luggage was being taken out: and, after giving directions to have my boxes sent after me, I made my way on foot to Arthur’s lodgings, and soon lost my lonely feeling in the hearty welcome my old friend gave me, and the cozy warmth and cheerful light of the little sitting-room into which he led me.

      ‘Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now, take the easy-chair, old fellow, and let’s have another look at you! Well, you do look a bit pulled down!’ and he put on a solemn professional air. ‘I prescribe Ozone, quant. suff. Social dissipation, fiant pilulæ quam plurimæ: to be taken, feasting, three times a day!’

      ‘But, Doctor!’ I remonstrated. ‘Society doesn’t “receive” three times a day!’

      ‘That’s all you know about it!’ the young Doctor gaily replied. ‘At home, lawn-tennis, 3 p.m. At home, kettledrum, 5 p.m. At home, music (Elveston doesn’t give dinners), 8 p.m. Carriages at 10. There you are!’

      It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. ‘And I know some of the lady-society already,’ I added. ‘One of them came in the same carriage with me’

      ‘What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her.’

      ‘The name was Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she was like—well, I thought her very beautiful. Do you know her?’

      ‘Yes—I do know her.’ And the grave Doctor coloured slightly as he added ‘Yes, I agree with you. She is beautiful.’

      ‘I quite lost my heart to her!’ I went on mischievously. ‘We talked—’

      ‘Have some supper!’ Arthur interrupted with an air of relief, as the maid entered with the tray. And he steadily resisted all my attempts to return to the subject of Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn itself away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversation was lapsing into silence, he made a hurried confession.

      ‘I hadn’t meant to tell you anything about her,’ he said (naming no names, as if there were only one “she” in the world!) ‘till you had seen more of her, and formed your own judgment of her: but somehow you surprised it out of me. And I’ve not breathed a word of it to any one else. But I can trust you with a secret, old friend! Yes! It’s true of me, what I suppose you said in jest.’

      ‘In the merest jest, believe me!’ I said earnestly. ‘Why, man, I’m three times her age! But if she’s your choice, then I’m sure she’s all that is good and—’ ‘—and sweet,’ Arthur went on, ‘and pure, and self-denying, and true-hearted, and—’ he broke off hastily, as if he could not trust himself to say more on a subject so sacred and so precious. Silence followed: and I leaned back drowsily in my easy-chair, filled with bright and beautiful imaginings of Arthur and his lady-love, and of all the peace and happiness in store for them.

      I pictured them to myself walking together, lingeringly and lovingly, under arching trees, in a sweet garden of their own, and welcomed back by their faithful gardener, on their return from some brief excursion.

      It seemed natural enough that the gardener should be filled with exuberant delight at the return of so gracious a master and mistress—and how strangely childlike they looked! I could have taken them for Sylvie and Bruno—less natural that he should show it by such wild dances, such crazy songs!