Mr. Anerley said nothing, but he did not look particularly pleased.

"If that had not been old Thwaites," muttered Will, "I should have said it was an old fool."

So Will walked on to Chesnut Bank. He had not the heart to tear the old man away from his favourite sport in order to give him this bad news.

After dinner, he now thought, would be time enough; and he himself seemed to have gained a respite until then.

But if he was in the meanwhile relieved from the necessity of bearing the evil tidings to his father, there remained his meeting with Dove, which he had for long looked forward to with a half-conscious fear. As he drew near the house, he began to think this the greater trial of the two.

Dove, still sitting in the drawing-room, heard footsteps on the gravelled pathway leading down through the garden. The music almost dropped from her hands as she listened intently for a moment-then a flush of joyous colour stole over her face. But, all the same, she opened the book again, and sate obstinately looking at pages which she did not see.

"Dove," said Will, tapping at the French window, "open and let me in."

No answer-Dove still intently regarding the music.

So he had to go on to the hall-door, ring the bell, and enter the drawing-room from the pa.s.sage.

"Oh, you are come back again!" said Dove, with mimic surprise, and with admirably simulated carelessness.

She held out her hand to him. She fancied he would be dreadfully astonished and perturbed by this cold reception-that they would have a nice little quarrel, and an explanation, and all the divine joys of making-up, before Mrs. Anerley could come down from the apple-closet, in which she had been engaged since breakfast-time. But, on the contrary, Will was neither surprised nor disturbed. He looked quite grave, perhaps a little sad, and took her hand, saying kindly-

"Yes, back again. I hope you have been well while I was away, Dove; and that you amused yourself."

Dove was alarmed; he had not even offered to kiss her.

"What is the matter with you, Will?" she said, with a vague fear in her pretty violet eyes.

"Why, nothing much."

"Is it I, then? Are you vexed with me, that you should be so cold with me after being away so long a time?"

There she stood, with her eyes downcast, a troubled look on her face, and both her hands pulling to pieces a little engraving she held.

"Why should I be vexed with you, Dove?" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. He dared not kiss her: there dwelt on his lips yet the memory of that sad leave-taking of the night before.

"Then why are you and I standing here like strangers?" she said, stamping her little foot.

She could not tell how things had all gone wrong; but they had gone wrong; and the meeting she had looked forward to with such pleasurable antic.i.p.ation was an embarra.s.sing failure.

At this moment Mrs. Anerley entered, and the girl saw her receive the kiss which had been denied to herself.

"You are not looking well, Will," said the observant mother. "Is your arm healing rightly?"

"Oh, yes, well enough."

"You are fatigued, then? Let me bring you some sherry."

She left the room, and then Dove-looking hesitatingly for a moment-ran forward to him, and buried her face in his bosom, and burst into tears.

"It was all my fault, dear," she sobbed. "I wanted to be angry with you, for not coming down by the first train-and-and I thought you would pet me, and make it up, you know-and I even forgot to ask about your arm; but it wasn't, dear, because I didn't think of it--"

"There, it's all right," he said. "I didn't notice you were vexed with me, or I should have made friends with you at once. There, now, you're only ruffling all your pretty hair, and such a delicate little collar you've got!"

"Oh!" she said, with smiles breaking through her tears, "you don't know what I have been making for you."

"Tell me."

"Twenty times I was near telling you in my letters; but I stopped. I tried to get it done, to give it you to-day, but I couldn't; and-and perhaps it was that made me vexed with you."

"Very likely," said Will, who thoroughly understood the charming byways of Dove's logic.

"It is a worsted waistcoat," she said, in a solemn whisper, "all knitted by myself. And I've put in some of my hair, so that you never could see it unless I showed it to you. They say that to give any one some of your hair is so unlucky-that it always means parting; but I couldn't help putting in just a little."

"To represent a little parting-from Sat.u.r.day to Monday, for example."

"Are you going up to town again to-morrow?" she said, with fresh alarm.

"The doctor says I ought; but we shall see when to-morrow comes."

So peace was established between them. It was only as an afterthought she remembered that he had never once kissed her.

During dinner, Will was almost silent. They supposed he was tired with the journey home. When Mrs. Anerley and Dove had left the room, he knew the time was come.

"I have bad news for you, father," he said.

"Out with it, then," said Mr. Anerley. "Everybody in the house is well in health; anything else does not much matter."

"Miall & Welling are down."

The old man put back his winegla.s.s on the table.

"Miall & Welling's bank is down?" he said, slowly.

"Yes."

"Are you sure of it?"

"There is their circular."

He read the paper carefully, and laid it down.

"They say," said Will, "that their affairs are in a terrible plight-quite hopeless."

"That means that I have not a farthing of money beyond what is in the house."

He remained silent for several minutes, his eyes fixed on the table before him. Then he said-

"Very well. There are four of us. If we two men cannot support ourselves and these two women, should not every one have a right to laugh at us?"