gether abandoned. "It's love, Daddy.... Oh! love!... He's going tomorrow."
For a minute or so neither spoke. Scrope's mind was entirely made up in the matter. He approved altogether of his daughter. But the traditions of parentage, his habit of restrained decision, made him act a judicial part. "I'd like just to see this boy," he said, and added: "If it isn't rather interfering...."
"Dear Daddy!" she said. "Dear Daddy!" and touched his hand. "He'll be coming here...."
"If you could tell me a few things about him," said Scrope. "Is he an undergraduate?"
"You see," began Eleanor and paused to marshal her facts. "He graduated this year. Then he's been in training at Cambridge. Properly he'd have a fellowship. He took the Natural Science tripos, zoology chiefly. He's good at philosophy, but of course our Cambridge philosophy is so silly—McTaggart blowing bubbles.... His father's a doctor, Sir Hedley Riverton."
As she spoke her eyes had been roving up the path and down. "He's coming," she interrupted. She hesitated. "Would you mind if I went and spoke to him first, Daddy?"
"Of course go to him. Go and warn him I'm here," said Scrope.
Eleanor got up, and was immediately greeted with joyful gestures by an approaching figure in khaki. The two
