"Oh, Nan! it does seem so nice to have you all to myself for a little,--just you and I, alone, and all the rest of the world outside somewhere! Do you know it is possible to be almost too happy!" And d.i.c.k sighed from the very fulness of content.

Nan gave a merry little laugh at this.

"Oh, no: to me it seems only natural to be happy. When things were at their worst I knew that they would come right some day; and I could not be quite miserable, even then. It was hard, of course; but when one is young, one ought not to mind a little waiting. And we have not waited long, have we, dear?" But to this d.i.c.k demurred.

"It was the longest term I ever pa.s.sed," he returned, seriously. "When a fellow is in that sort of unsettled state, one cannot measure time in the ordinary way. Well, the ordeal is over, thank heaven!" And then he paused, and continued, a little thoughtfully: "What I have to do now is to work hard and do my best to deserve you. I shall never be worthy of you, Nan; I know that."

"I think you quite worthy of me," she answered, softly, and now there were tears in her eyes.

"Oh, no; no fellow could be that," he replied, decidedly. "I am well enough in my way, and compared with other men I am not so bad,"

continued d.i.c.k, who had a sufficiently good opinion of his own merits, in spite of the humility of his speech; "but as to coming up to you, Nan, by a long way, why, the thing is impossible! But I tell you this, it helps a fellow to keep right and steady when he believes in the goodness of the girl belonging to him."

"You must not make me vain," she half whispered, and her lips trembled a little at his praise. But he disregarded this remonstrance, and went on:

"You have kept me right all my life. How could I ever do a mean or a shabby action to make you ashamed of me? When I was tempted once or twice,--for idle young fellows will be tempted,--I used to say to myself, No, Nan would not approve if she knew it. And I held tight to this thought, and I am glad now that I can look in your dear face and tell you this. It makes me feel so happy." And indeed d.i.c.k's face was radiant.

They were almost sorry when the journey was over; they had so much to say to each other. The wintry landscape was growing gray and indistinct as they reached their destination, and, though Nan peered anxiously into the darkness for a glimpse of each well-remembered spot, she could only just discern the dim outline of Glen Cottage before the carriage turned in at the gates of Longmead.

Mr. Mayne had determined to pay his intended daughter-in-law all becoming honors, and as soon as the carriage wheels were heard he had the hall door thrown back to show the bright, welcoming light, and he himself descended the flight of steps to the terrace. "Just as though I were a royal personage," laughed Nan. But she was a little nattered by the compliment.

Most girls would have felt the awkwardness of the situation, but not Nan. The moment d.i.c.k a.s.sisted her out of the carriage she walked up to his father, and put up her face to be kissed in the most natural way.

"It was so good of you to ask me here; and I am so glad to come," she said, simply.

"There, there! run in out of the cold," was all his answer; and he patted her hand a little awkwardly. But, though his voice had its usual gruffness, his manner was otherwise kind. "How are you, d.i.c.k? I hope Roper did not keep you waiting at the station, for you are a quarter of an hour behind your time." And then he took his son's arm and walked up the steps again.

Nan, meanwhile, had run through the hall and into the warm, softly-lighted drawing-room, and there she soon found herself in Mrs.

Mayne's motherly arms. When the gentlemen came in they interrupted quite a little scene, for Mrs. Mayne was actually crying over the girl, and Nan was kissing her.

"Don't you think you had better stop that sort of thing, Bessie,"

observed her husband, drily, "and get Nan a cup of tea? You would like some tea, my dear, would you not?" in a more gracious voice.

Of course Nan said she would like some, just to show her appreciation of his thoughtfulness; and then d.i.c.k said he should like some too, and his father quizzed him a little as he rang the bell. And as Mrs. Mayne obediently dried her eyes at her husband's behest, they were soon very happy and comfortable. When Nan's cup was empty, d.i.c.k darted to take it, that it might be replenished; but his father was before him.

All that evening Mr. Mayne waited on Nan, quite ignoring his son's claims. He had a special brand of champagne served that Nan had once said she liked; and he reminded her of this, and pressed her to partake of it.

"This is to your health, my dear," he said, lifting his gla.s.s of port to his lips when the servants had withdrawn; "and to yours too, d.i.c.k."

And then Nan blushed very becomingly, and d.i.c.k thanked him a little gravely.

"I do think the old boy has fallen in love with you himself, for he has not let me come near you all the evening," whispered d.i.c.k later on that night, pretending to grumble, but in reality looking very happy.

"He has been so good to me," returned the girl; and she repeated this for Mrs. Mayne's benefit, when at last the two women found themselves free to indulge in a little talk. Nan had coaxed her friend to sit beside her fire for a few minutes, and then she had knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms round her in the most affectionate way.

"Dear, dear Mrs. Mayne, how nice all this is! and how good Mr. Mayne has been to me all this evening!"

"My Richard never does things by halves," returned Mrs. Mayne, proudly. "People cannot always understand him, because his manner is a little rough sometimes; but I know, and none better, his real goodness of heart. Why, he is so pleased with himself and you and d.i.c.k this evening that he hardly knows how to contain himself; but he is a little awkward in showing it."

"Oh, no; I did not think him awkward at all."

"I must say you behaved beautifully, Nan, never seeming as though you remembered that there had been anything amiss, but just taking everything as he meant it. Of course I knew how you would act: I was not afraid that I should be disappointed."

"Of course I could not do otherwise."

"And d.i.c.k, too, behaved so well, keeping in the background just to give his father full freedom. I must say I was pleased with him, too, for most young men are so thoughtless; but then his behavior to his father has been perfect throughout."

"I knew it would be," whispered Nan.

"I am sure it made my heart ache to see him. Sometimes he would come in whistling and pretending to be his old self, so light-hearted and cheerful; and all the time he was fretting himself to death, as I told Richard. Richard was terribly trying sometimes,--you know his way,--but the boy bore it so well. It was not till the last, when they had that walk, and d.i.c.k was goaded into positive anger, that he ever lost his temper in the least. I will say this, Nan, that though my d.i.c.k may not be much to look at, he has the sweetest temper and the kindest heart." And so the simple woman ran on, and Nan listened, well pleased.

When Mr. Mayne came up to his dressing-room that evening, his wife stole in after him, and laid her hands on his shoulder as he stood thoughtfully contemplating the fire.

"Well, Richard, won't you own she is lovely now?"

"Humph! yes; I suppose people would call her pretty," he returned, in his grudging way. "But I tell you what, Bessie," suddenly kindling into animation, "she is better than handsome; she is out and out good, and she will make a man of d.i.c.k."

"G.o.d bless him, and her too!" whispered the mother, as she withdrew softly, but not before she caught the sound of an "Amen" uttered distinctly in her husband's voice.

Nan made d.i.c.k take her to all their old haunts the next morning; but first of all they went to Glen Cottage. Nan ran through all the rooms with almost a child's glee: nothing could exceed her delight when d.i.c.k showed her the drawing-room, with the new conservatory opening out of it.

"It always was a pretty room," she said, glancing round her; "but the conservatory and the new furniture have quite transformed it. How charmed mother and the girls will be! The whole house looks better than when we were in it."

"Nonsense!" returned d.i.c.k, stoutly. "There never was a house to compare with it. I always loved it; and so did you, Nan. What a summer we shall have here, when I am reading up for honors in the long vacation! I mean to work pretty hard; for when a fellow has such an object as that----" And then he looked at Nan meaningly; but she was not to be beguiled into that subject.

They were so happy, and so young, that they could afford to wait a little; and she did not wish d.i.c.k to speak yet of that day that was looming in the distance.

She could only be sure of one summer at Glen Cottage; but what a time they would have! She stood for a long while looking out on the lawn and calling up possible visions of summer afternoons. The tennis-ground was marked out already in her imagination; the tea-table in its old place under the trees; there was her mother knitting in her favorite wicker-chair; there were Dulce and Phillis, surrounded by their friends

"Come away, Nan. Are you moon-struck, or dreaming?" questioned d.i.c.k, drawing her arm through his. "Do you remember what we have to do before luncheon? And Vigo looks so impatient for his run." But even d.i.c.k paused for a moment in the veranda to show Nan the rose she had picked for him just there, and which still lay in his pocket-book.

All her old friends crowded round Nan to welcome her back; and great were the rejoicings when they heard that Glen Cottage was to be in the Challoners' possession again. Carrie Paine and Adelaide Sartoris called first. Carrie embraced Nan with tearful effusion: she was an honest, warm-hearted creature. But Adelaide looked at her a little curiously.

"Oh, my dear, the scandal that has been talked about you all!" she said, in a mysterious tone. "Carrie and I would not believe it: would we, Car? We told people to hold their tongues, and not talk such nonsense."

"Never mind that now, Addie," returned Nan, cheerfully. She felt she must be careful of what she said, for d.i.c.k's sake. "We have had our worries, and have worked as better people have before us; but now it is all over."

"But is it true that your cousin, Sir Henry Challoner, has bought Gilsbank?" broke in Carrie. "Tell us about him, dear. Addie thought she saw him once. Is he a tall man, with red hair?"

"Very red hair," responded Nan, laughing.

"Then I did see him," replied Miss Sartoris, decidedly. "He is quite a giant, Nan; but he looks very good-natured."

Miss Sartoris was just engaged to a dapper little colonel in the Hussars, so she could afford to be quizzical on the subject of Sir Harry's inches; but Carrie, who was at present unattached, was a little curious about the future master of Gilsbank.

After this, Nan called at Fitzroy Lodge, and d.i.c.k went with her. Lady Fitzroy, who was looking very pretty and delicate, welcomed Nan with the greatest kindness. When Lord Fitzroy came in with the rest of the gentlemen from hunting, he questioned Nan very closely about their new neighbor, Sir Henry Challoner, and made a great many kind inquiries after his favorite, Miss Phillis.

"So we are to have you all back, eh," he queried, pleasantly. "Well, I call that good news. I am bound that Evelyn is as pleased to hear it as I am."

"I am very much pleased," returned Lady Fitzroy graciously. "And you must tell your mother so, with my love. Percival, will you ring for some more hot water, please? I shall not be long: but I am going to take Miss Challoner upstairs to see our boy."