different places of interest in the neighbourhood. They bought curious plaques and vases at the Vallauris pottery, went over the scent manufactory at Grasse, where mountains of rose leaves and violets are converted into fragrant perfumes, and drove along the exquisite Cornichi road, which winds round the hillside, and affords a view of the Mediterranean lying below, blue as a sapphire in the summer sunshine. In the afternoons Mrs Saville would retire to rest, tired out by the morning’s exertions, and Peggy would say plaintively:

“Father dear, could you bear the reflections that your only daughter was pining for an ice and a box of chocolates, and that you had refused to indulge her for the sake of a few miserable rupees!” and the colonel invariably replying in the negative, she would array herself in her smartest frock, and repair with him to Rumpelmeyer’s, who, as every one who has stayed in the Riviera knows full well, is at once the most wonderful and the most extortionate confectioner who ever tempted the appetites of men.

At every visit Peggy and her father groaned afresh at the price of the bonbons displayed so daintily in their satin boxes; but though they agreed that it was impossible to indulge any more in such extravagance, they invariably succumbed to temptation, the colonel ejaculating, “It’s a poor heart that never rejoices. We shall be young only once in our lives, Peg, so we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can,” and Peggy explaining to her scandalised mother that the expenditure was really an economy in the end, since she would keep all the pretty cases, fill them with jujubes, and present them as Christmas presents to deserving friends!

At Paris Hector Darcy bade his friends farewell, and Peggy bore his departure in philosophical fashion. It had been delightful having his company, for it had seemed like a “bit of home,” but he would have been dreadfully in the way in Paris, where the avowed business of the day was the purchase of clothes and fripperies. Mrs Saville and her daughter prepared for the fray with every appearance of enjoyment, and though the colonel professed a horror of shopping, he yet manifested an agreeable interest in their purchases.

“I can’t afford to give you carte blanche, with all the expenses of the new house before us,” he explained, “but one or two pretty frocks apiece you must and shall have, while we are on the spot; so go ahead and make yourself smart, and I’ll brace my nerves to face the bill.”

There was no fear that Miss Peggy would not go ahead in such an occupation. The only difficulty was that she went ahead too fast; but by dint of forbearance, mingled with judicious firmness, the choice was made at last, and in due time the dresses came home, the bills were paid, and Colonel Saville, blessing Providence that he had not six women to dress instead of two, hurried on the day of departure from a city of such ruinous fascinations.

On one happy spring morning, then, behold the Saville trio once more nearing the white cliffs of Old England—blessed travellers, whose exile was over, and who could look forward to spending the rest of their lives in that dear old country which, despite its rain and fog, must ever be the dearest in the world to true-born Britons.

They stood together, amidst the bustle of arrival, looking with sparkling eyes at the well-remembered scene, for there was no necessity to hurry for the train, and Colonel Saville, with all a soldier’s intolerance of a scramble, decided to wait on board until the general exodus was over. “Then we will get a porter to take our boxes quietly ashore,” he explained to his companions; and, as if his words had been overheard, at that very moment a candidate for that post came up from behind.

“Carry your boxes, sir? Can I carry your boxes?” cried a breezy voice, at the sound of which Peggy gasped, Mrs Saville laid her hand over her heart, and the colonel wheeled round to confront Arthur himself, taller, broader, handsomer than ever.

“My boy!” he cried brokenly.

“Arthur!” gasped his mother, and lay sobbing on the dear, strong shoulder, while Peggy stroked the tails of his coat, and assiduously licked away the tears which would insist upon flowing down her cheeks. Why cry, when she was so happy? The thing was absurd! Why do anything but laugh, and dance, and sing with mirth, when at long, long last they were all four together, and Arthur stood before her in solid flesh and blood?

“How tall you are! Taller than your father, my dear big son!”

“How good it is to see you again, my boy! We have wearied for this day.”

“Oh, Arthur, what a big moustache! What a dear you look! We never, never expected to see you before we got to London.”

“I was not sure of coming, but I worked it somehow, for I could not wait an hour longer than was necessary. Peg, you’re a lady growed! I looks towards you! Oh, let us be joyful! This is grand to be together again, with no more miserable partings ahead. Welcome to England, mother! First step on the old land—eh? Feels nice and sound beneath your feet, doesn’t it? Just the sort of solid, durable old place to take root in after a roaming life!” And Arthur led his mother on shore, rattling away in his old merry style, though the tears shone in his eyes also, and his voice was not so clear as it might have been.

The years that had passed since he had seen his parents last had not been altogether easy ones for him. He had had to face the bitterest disappointment of his life, to adapt himself to a new and uncongenial sphere, and, in spite of all his courage, there had been moments when the task had seemed too heavy to bear. It had been an effort to write cheerfully, and to refrain from repinings over his lost hopes, but he had made the effort, and he was rewarded for his forbearance a hundred times over in this moment of meeting, as he noticed the hollows in his mother’s cheeks, and the grey locks on his father’s brow. It had been hard enough for them as it was. He was thankful he had not laid on them the additional burden of his own sufferings.

The reunited family travelled up to town together, and dined in a private room in the hotel, so that they might be able to talk without interruption. Arthur was, of course, the hero of the occasion, and was handed about from one to another of his adoring relatives in a manner which would have been amusing to an onlooker. First of all Mrs Saville claimed him, and they sat on the sofa together, stroking each other’s hands like a charming pair of lovers, as a mother and grown-up son should always be. Then she cast an apologetic glance at her husband, and made an excuse to move her position, when Colonel Saville took possession of his “boy,” and the two tall figures leant against the mantelpiece talking “manny talk,” as Peggy expressed it, and smoking their cigarettes. Finally it was Peggy’s own turn, and she sat perched on Arthur’s knee, gazing into the dear, handsome face which had always been her ideal of manly beauty.

“Fancy, Arthur, just fancy, we are grown-up ladies and gentlemen! I am twenty-one, and you are twenty-six! Doesn’t it seem wonderful? You look so handsome, dear, so big and important! I suppose you are important, aren’t you? What is your chief like? Does he appreciate you? Does he defer sufficiently to your advice? Between ourselves, the English Government isn’t so well managed as I could wish. There is a want of firmness in dealing with Foreign Powers which annoys me greatly. Next time you get into a muddle at the War Office, just tell them to apply to me, and I’ll set them straight! If I could get the chance of being Minister of War for a couple of days, I’d settle them! No shilly-shally for me I I’d show them how the thing ought to be done!”—and Peggy wagged her head in a fierce and defiant manner, which sent Arthur into a peal of laughter.

“Not any more burdened by modesty than you used to be, I perceive, young lady. I’ll be