“But he’s gone, and you never had me to help you.”

“Oh, will you—­will you help me right now?” she pleaded.

“Surest thing you know!” he nodded, “your hand, Princess.”

So hand in hand he led her, suiting his long legs to hers, along shady walks, up terrace steps, across smooth lawns, and so to the great house.  Hazel paused to question him further concerning “the gentleman”, but Ravenslee laughed and, seating her upon his shoulder, bore her into the house.

In her housekeeper’s room, surrounded by many dusty bill files and stacks of account books, they presently found Mrs. Trapes, whose hawk’s-eye viewed bills and tradesmen’s books while she frowned and muttered such comments as “Rogues!” “Thieves!” “Scand’lous!” “Wicked!” Until glancing up, her sharp features softened, and she smiled up into the child’s happy face.

“So Hazel’s found ye, has she, Mr. Geoffrey.  An’ talkin’ o’ her, you’ve sure made the Bowkers a happy fam’ly.  But, my land, Mr. Ravenslee, the scand’lous prices as th’ tradespeople has been allowed t’ charge you these last six months!  Here’s th’ butcher—­listen t’ this—­”

“Heaven forbid, Mrs. Trapes!  Rather let that butcher listen to you, miserable wretch!”

“An’ there’s the milkman—­that milkman’s cows ought t’ blush at th’ sound o’ your name!  Here’s his accounts for the last six months, an’ I’ve found—­”

“Have you, Mrs. Trapes?  We’re trying to find Hermione—­where is she?”

“Oh, she’s in her room—­laying down, I guess.”

“Not,” enquired Ravenslee, “not—­er—­in bed, is she?”

“Mr. Geoffrey, I don’t know; I’m busy.  Go an’ see for yourself—­she’s your wife, ain’t she?”

“Why, since you ask, I—­er—­hardly know,” he answered a little ruefully, “anyway, found she shall be.”

With the child perched upon his shoulder he strode up-stairs and along wide corridors whose deep carpets gave forth no sound, and so reached a certain door.  Here he hesitated a moment, then knocked with imperious hand.

“Come in!” called that voice whose soft inflection had always thrilled him, but never as it did now as, turning the handle, he entered his wife’s chamber.

Hermione was standing before a long mirror, and she neither turned nor looked from the radiant vision it reflected; her eyes, her attention, all the feminine soul of her being just then fixed and centered upon the tea gown she was trying on; such a garment as she had gloated over in the store windows, yearned for, but never thought to possess.

“Ann,” she sighed, “oh, Ann, isn’t it exquisite!  Isn’t it a perfect dream!  Of course it needs a wee bit of alteration here and there, but I can do that.  Isn’t it good of him to have bought it without saying a word!  And there are heaps of dresses and robes and—­and everything!  A complete trousseau, Ann, dear—­think of it!  I wonder how he knew my size—­”

“Oh, I just guessed it, my dear,” answered Ravenslee in the voice of a much experienced husband.