As he spoke, Marcella was conscious of a sudden impression that she already knew him and could be herself with him at once.
"Oh, I say," broke in young Leven, who was standing behind; "don't you be bothered with us, Miss Boyce.

Just send us back at once.

I'm awfully sorry!" "No; you are to come in!" she said, smiling through her pallor, which was beginning to pass away, and putting out her hand to him--the young Eton and Oxford athlete, just home for his Christmas vacation, was a great favourite with her--"You must come and have tea and cheer me up by telling me all the things you have killed this week.

Is there anything left alive?
You had come down to the fieldfares, you know, last Tuesday." He followed her, laughing and protesting, and she led the way to the drawing-room.

But as her fingers were on the handle she once more caught sight of the maid, Deacon, standing on the stairs, and ran to speak to her.
"He is better," she said, coming back with a face of glad relief.