Sir Henry was in a pleasant and expansive humour that evening.

The new cook was an unqualified success, and he was conscious of having dined exceedingly well.

He sat in a comfortable easy-chair before a blazing wood fire, he had just lit one of his favourite brand of cigarettes, and his wife, whom he adored, was seated only a few feet away.
"Quite a remarkable change in Helen," he observed.

"She was in the depths of depression when I went away, and to-night she seems positively cheerful." "Helen varies a great deal," Philippa reminded him.
"Still, to-night, I must say, I should have expected to have found her more depressed than ever," Sir Henry went on.

"She hoped so much from your trip to London, and you apparently accomplished nothing." "Nothing at all." "And you have had no letters ?" "None." "Then Helen's high spirits, I suppose, are only part of woman's natural inconsistency .-- Philippa, dear!" "Yes ?" "I am glad to be at home.