Next morning, while he was sitting with his fiancÉe in the bank drawing-room, the ladies of the house having discreetly pleaded domestic engagements, Mrs. Oxenham was announced—to see Miss Liddon.

Jenny rose from the sofa, pale and palpitating. Anthony neither moved nor spoke, but watched his sister narrowly.

"I have come," said Mary; and then she stopped, and held out her arms. Jenny rushed into them, sobbing; and it was made evident that all opposition was at an end, as far as this Churchill was concerned.

"I am not de trop, am I?" she inquired, with a tremulous laugh. "You don't mind my sitting here with you for a few minutes, do you, Tony?"

He got up, and solemnly kissed her. "You are a good old girl, Polly," he said, in a deep voice. "Sit down, and tell us that you wish us joy—it's about the only thing that could make us happier than we are already."

"I came on purpose," she replied, "to wish you joy, dears, and to fetch you both back to Wandooyamba. Jenny, you will come back to me, my darling? I understand now—I didn't before. And Harry—he is your devoted admirer, you must know—he commissioned me to say that he expects you."

Jenny looked at her lover, who shook his head.

"Can't," he said. "We have telegraphed to her mother, and have arranged to go down by this afternoon's train."

"Oh, no, Tony!"

"Yes, Polly! we can't put it off now. I must see her mother. And we are going to close the tea-room, and—and lots of things. But we can come back again."

Mrs. Oxenham was then prevailed on to wait to see them off, and the Rogersons sent out for champagne that lunch might be served in a style befitting the occasion. Having made up her mind to support Tony, there was nothing Mary would not do to please him; and she fraternised with Jenny's relatives, invited them to Wandooyamba, drove them to the station, and otherwise effaced herself and her social prejudices, in the spirit of a generous woman who is also a born lady. On the platform she kissed the lovers in turn, regardless of spectators.

"I declare," she said, aside to her brother, "it is ridiculous of you two to be going away like this; you should have gone alone, Tony, and left Jenny with me."

He laughed derisively.

"You could have come back for her when you had seen her mother, or I could have brought her down. You look exactly like a bride and bridegroom starting off on their honeymoon, with all this party seeing you off."

"We'll be that when we come back again," said he.

"Oh, I hope you are not going to put off coming to me till then!"

He laughed again, and dropped his voice. "I'm going to take her to Europe, Polly, and we must sail not later than March, you know, on account of the Red Sea, and the English spring, which I don't want her to miss."

"Tony! You are not going off again, before we've hardly got you back!"

"She has never seen the world, as we have, and I'm going to show it to her. It's what her little heart is set on. And time she had some pleasure, after all her hard work."

"Ah, ah! 'She' will be everything, now!"

"She won't be everything, but she'll be first. Where is she, by the way? Come, little one, jump in."

Jenny stepped into a small compartment of the ancient carriages provided for this unimportant branch line, and he sprang in after her. Though it was close to Christmas, and other compartments were fairly full, they had this one to themselves—whether by fair means or foul did not transpire. As soon as they were off Anthony proceeded to unfold in detail the plans he had been hatching through the night, because, he said, the main line train would be crowded, and he might not have another opportunity.

"We'll go abroad, Jenny, first, and then settle——"

"But I am not going to desert my family all in a moment, as you seem to think," she protested. "Indeed, indeed I cannot——"

He simply put his hand over her mouth.

"It won't take very long, and I shall want to have a house preparing for us to come to when we get back. I shall want to feel that we have a home, all the same—for we may get tired of wandering at any minute. And this is a thing one can't leave to other people. One must choose for one's self. So I shall at once look round for a nice place—Hush, Jenny! Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking, it's rude—and then I shall see if I can't persuade your mother and sister to look after it for us. You see, we shall be sending home furniture and all sorts of odds and ends from different places as we travel about, and we shall want somebody we can trust to receive the things and take care of them. I hardly like to ask such a favour of her, but for your sake I believe your mother would like the job; and I daresay she will feel lonesome with nothing to do when the tea-room is shut up. I shall take passages immediately, because berths are bespoken months before at this time of year. For February, if possible."

Jenny gasped. "Oh, talk of cheek and impudence—! Am I not to have any say at all?"

"Certainly not. An infinitesimal little mite like you!"

"You seem to think that, because I am small, I'm not to be counted as a woman with a will of her own."

"Oh, no. But you have had your turn of bossing people and managing things. Now I'm going to have mine, and you must submit to be bossed in your turn. Do you see? That's only fair."

The sort of bossing that she received that day was too delicious for words. After her long toil and struggle to take care of others, the being cared for herself, in this strong and tender fashion, was perhaps the sweetest experience she ever had in her life. The main line train was crowded, but no one crowded her. Refreshments, such as they were, were produced without any trouble to herself, whenever she wanted them. But the charm of all was to sit beside him, content and peaceful, and know that she had nothing to do or to fear—that the combined world was powerless to touch her through the shield of his protection.

Jarvis was at Spencer Street, and took her luggage and instructions what to do with it. A hansom was waiting for his master, and into this he put Jenny, and drove her home through the gas-lit streets to her impatient mother and sister.

Mrs. Liddon had been prepared by Sarah for the tale they had to tell; nevertheless, she wept with joy when she heard it, and was particularly enchanted to know that her sister Emma had been properly taught not to look down on them that were as good as herself and better. Likewise she thanked God that Joey's future was assured. And she folded her eldest daughter to her breast, and declared that Mr. Churchill had got a treasure, though she said it that shouldn't; and bade him forgive her for being an old fool and crying over it, when she was really that happy that she didn't know if she stood on her head or her heels.

The tea-room had long been closed, and she had had time to exercise her special talents in the production of a charming supper, to the excellence of which he testified in the only satisfactory way. He ate largely, and remarked that he had never enjoyed anything more in his life.

"Well, I never enjoyed cooking things more," she said; and added, rather pathetically, "I must say I do get a little tired of making nothing but scones, day after day."

"You shall not make any more," said Jenny. "We are going to talk to Mrs. Allonby in the morning, and see if she will not take over the tea-room, and set us free."

"She'll be only too glad to jump at the chance," said Mrs. Liddon proudly, "if we make the terms reasonable. But, ah!"—shaking her head—"she'll never make scones like I do."