New rugs gave colour and life to the floor.

The mantel had been swept clear of annual reports and technical books, and graced with a friendly clock and a still more friendly pair of vases filled with flowers.

The monumental swivel chair had disappeared, and in its place was one of wicker, upholstered in cretonne.

On the desk was another vase of flowers, a writing set of charming design and a triple photograph frame, containing pictures of Miss Cordelia, Miss Patty and old Josiah himself.
Mary was still marvelling when she caught sight of Burdon Woodward in the doorway.
"Who--who did this ?" she asked.
He bowed low--as d'Artagnan might have bowed to the queen of France--but came up smiling.
"Your humble, obedient servant," said he.

"Can I come in ?" It had been some time since Mary had seen him so closely, and as he approached she noticed the faultlessness of his dress, the lily of the valley in his buttonhole, and that slightly ironic but smiling manner which is generally attributed to men of the world, especially to those who have travelled far on adventurous and forbidden paths.