' 1 wish you bad come to George and me,l bb we begged you to do !' cried Bee. ' Youj are becoming an old recluse. You sit here and mou-n for Dirling !' ' You miss her ? ' ' Yes,' I replied. ' You miss her mo -e than you do us !' cried Bee accusingly. 'Yes,' I replied again, with a frank smile. ' How is she Mrs Leslie ? Have you heard lately?' • She is quite strong again.' ' She and her husband are still in Italy ? ' • Yes ; they are coming back to England in the spring.' ' This time la=it year,' mus«d Bee, 'she was dyingr. How strange it was that she got well I Even the doctor had given her up, hadn't he ?'

' Yes ; but a cleverer doctor stepped in unexpectedly,' I answered, with a smile. ' You never told us that. Who was he ? ' ' Dootor Cupid—he prescribed a pbyßic that often cures—a sweet draught—happiness.' Bee made a funny little move. 'lt's so strange to think of happiness in connection with Stephen Lee!' she cried. 'I think we misjudged him,' I replied. 1 He was silent and grave and——' ' Morose,' put in Plorrie. 'He had the airs of a schoolmaster,' I con tinued. 'He was too serious. Perhaps his manners were not prepossessing.' '' Perhaps'!' echoed Bee scoffingly. •Well, whatever his faults,' I said, 'he loved her, and she loved him.' ' Love again! Ah, love is a mysterious thing!' decided Bee. THE END.
