Bennett, with a sunburned nose, was tidying up the veranda, and some one with a nice light touch was playing the rhythmic jingles of Jerome Kern on the piano in the drawing-room.
Still with her hand on Harry Oldershaw's arm, Joan made her way across the lofty hall, caught sight of Gilbert Palgrave coming eagerly to meet her, and waved her hand.
"Oh, hello, Gilbert," she cried out.

"Welcome to Easthampton," and ran upstairs.
With a strange contraction of the heart, Palgrave watched her out of sight.

She was his dream come to life.

All that he was and hoped to be he had placed forever at her feet.

Dignity, individualism, egoism,--all had fallen before this young thing.