“Won’t she—­Mrs. Peyton—­think we’re rather cool?” Charlotte suggested, as they tucked the boy in.

“Not a bit.  She’ll be glad to have the job off her hands.  The youngsters are tired, and ought to have been in bed an hour ago.  Stay here, and I’ll run down after Lucy.”

On the stairs, as they descended, after Charlotte had seen Lucy to her quarters, they met Jeff.

“Been putting the kids to bed?” he questioned curiously, under his breath.  “Well, you’re great.  Their mother doesn’t seem much worried about it.  She’s quite a talker.  Guess she didn’t notice what happened.  Say, I’m going.  It’s ten o’clock.  You two ought to have a chance to look ’round without any more company to-night.  Justin slipped off while you were up-stairs.  Told me to say good-night.  Father and mother are only waiting for a pause in your cousin’s conversation long enough to throw in a word of their own before they get up.”  He made an expressive gesture.

“You know mother’s invariable rule,” he chuckled, “never to get up to go at the end of one of your guest’s conversational sprints, but always to wait until you can interrupt yourself, so to speak.  Well—­I don’t mean any disrespect to the lady from Virginia, Andy, but I’m afraid mother’ll have to make an exception to that rule, or else remain for the night.”

The three laughed softly, Charlotte’s hand on her brother’s shoulder, as she stood on the step above him.

“You mustn’t say any saucy things, Jeffy,” said she, with a soft touch on his thick locks.

“I won’t.  I’m too tickled to have you back—­both of you.  We missed Fiddle pretty badly,” he said to Doctor Churchill, “but we found time to miss you almost as much.  There have been several times while you’ve been gone that I’d have welcomed the chug of your runabout under my window, waking me up in the middle of the night.”

“Thank you, old fellow!” said Doctor Churchill with a hand on Jeff’s other shoulder.  “That’s mighty pleasant to hear.”

In spite of Jeff’s prediction, Mrs. Birch soon managed, in her own tactful way, to follow her sons home.  Mrs. Peyton went up to her room at last, a cordial good night, following her from the foot of the stairs.  Then Doctor Churchill drew his wife back into the living-room and closed the doors.  He stood looking at Charlotte with eyes in which were mingled merriment and tenderness.

“It wasn’t just as we planned it, was it, little girl?” he said.  “But there’s always this to fall back upon.  People we want, and people we don’t want so much, may be around us, to the right of us, and the left of us, but even so, nobody can ever—­come between.”

The door-bell rang.

“Oh, I hoped nobody would know you were home to-night!’ cried Charlotte, the smile fading from her lips.  Doctor Churchill went quickly to the door.  A messenger boy with a telegram stood outside.  The doctor read the dispatch and dismissed the boy.  Then he turned to Charlotte.