But what does anything matter?  Here she is in her old home, with all her dear delights around her!  She glances backwards and forwards, a happy smile upon her lips.  From one of the Scotch firs over there, the graceful blossoms of the hop-plant droop prettily.  And beyond them on the hillside, far, far away, she can see mushrooms gleaming in the fields, for all the world like little sheep dotted here and there.  She laughs to herself as she notes the resemblance.  And all is hers—­all.  And she is in her own home, and happy.

What a blessing she hadn’t said “No” when Maurice asked her.  If she had, she would have been living at Rickfort now with Uncle George.

“Tita!” cries Maurice.

He has thrown up the window of his smoking-room, and is calling to her.

“Yes?”

She turns to him, her arms full of flowers, her vivacious little face, just like another sort of flower, peeping over them.

“Can you come in for a moment?”

“Why can’t you come out? Do, it is lovely here!”

“I can if you like, but it will mean hauling out pencils and paper, and——­”

“Oh well, I’ll come.”

She runs to him across the green, sweet grass, and, standing beneath the window, holds out her hands to him.

“You can’t come in this way,” says he.

“Can’t I?  I wish I had a penny for every time I did get in this way,” says she.  “Here, give me your hands.”

He stoops to her, and catches her small brown hands in a close grip.  The new Lady Rylton plants a very shapely little foot against an excrescence in the wall, and in a second has her knee on the window-sill.

“After all, my mother was right,” says Rylton, laughing.  “You are a hoyden.”

He takes the slight girlish figure in his arms, and swings her into the room.  She stands for a second looking at him with a rather thoughtful air.  Then—­

“You mother may call me names if she likes,” says she.  “But you mustn’t!”

“No?” laughing again.  She amuses him with her little air of authority.  “Very good.  I shan’t!  I suppose I may call you wife, any way.”

“Oh, that!” She stops.  “Did you bring me in to ask me that question?”

At this they laugh together.

“No.  I confess so much.”

“What, then?”

“Well, we ought to decide at once who we are going to ask for the rest of the shooting.  The preserves are splendid, and it seems quite a sin to let them go to waste.  Of course I know a lot of men I could ask, but there should be a few women, too, for you.”

“Why for me?  I like men a great deal better,” says Tita audaciously.

“Well, you shouldn’t!  And, besides, you have some friends of your won to be asked.”

“Your friends will do very well.”

“Nonsense!” with a touch of impatience.  “It is you and your friends who are first to be considered; afterwards we can think of mine.”