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Beatrice put her hand into the M.P.’s.

“I am glad to see you,” she said simply, looking up at him.

She could not say that he had not changed, for there was little in this tall, broad-shouldered man of the world, with grey glints in his hair, to suggest the slim, boyish young lover whose image she had carried in her heart all the long years.

But the voice, though deeper and mellower, was the same, and the thin, clever mouth that went up at one corner and down at the other in a humorous twist; and one little curl of reddish hair fell over his forehead away from its orderly fellows, just as it used to when she had loved to poke her fingers through it; and, more than all, the deep-set grey eyes looking down into her blue ones were unchanged. Beatrice felt her heart beating to her fingertips.

“I thought you were not coming,” he said. “I expected to meet you here and I was horribly disappointed. I thought the bitterness of that foolish old quarrel must be strong enough to sway you yet.”

“Didn’t Bella tell you I had a headache?” faltered Beatrice.

“Bella? Oh, your brother’s wife! I wasn’t talking to her. I’ve been sulking in corners ever since I concluded you were not coming. How beautiful you are, Beatrice! You’ll let an old friend say that much, won’t you?”

Beatrice laughed softly. She had forgotten for years that she was beautiful, but the sweet old knowledge had come back to her again. She could not help knowing that he spoke the simple truth, but she said mirthfully,

“You’ve learned to flatter since the old days, haven’t you? Don’t you remember you used to tell me I was too thin to be pretty? But I suppose a bit of blarney is a necessary ingredient in the composition of an M.P.”

He was still holding her hand. With a glance of dissatisfaction at the open parlour door, he drew her away to the little room at the end of the hall, which Mrs. Cunningham, for reasons known only to herself, called her library.

“Come in here with me,” he said masterfully. “I want to have a long talk with you before the other people get hold of you.”

When Beatrice got home from the party ten minutes before her brother and his wife, Margaret was sitting Turk fashion in the big armchair, with her eyes very wide open and owlish.

“You dear girlie, were you asleep?” asked Aunt Beatrice indulgently.

Margaret nodded. “Yes, and I’ve let the fire go out. I hope you’re not cold. I must run before Aunt Bella gets here, or she’ll scold. Had a nice time?”

“Delightful. You were a dear to lend me this dress. It was so funny to see Bella staring at it.”

When Margaret had put on her hat and jacket she went as far as the street door, and then tiptoed back to the sitting-room. Aunt Beatrice was leaning back in the armchair, with a drooping rose held softly against her lips, gazing dreamily into the dull red embers.

“Auntie,” said Margaret contritely, “I can’t go home without confessing, although I know it is a heinous offence to interrupt the kind of musing that goes with dying embers and faded roses in the small hours. But it would weigh on my conscience all night if I didn’t. I was asleep, but I wakened up just before you came in and went to the window. I didn’t mean to spy upon anyone–but that street was bright as day! And if you will let an M.P. kiss you on the doorstep in glaring moonlight, you must expect to be seen.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if there had been a dozen onlookers,” said Aunt Beatrice frankly, “and I don’t believe he would either.”

Margaret threw up her hands. “Well, my conscience is clear, at least. And remember, Aunt Beatrice, I’m to be bridesmaid–I insist upon that. And, oh, won’t you ask me to visit you when you go down to Ottawa next winter? I’m told it’s such a jolly place when the House is in session. And you’ll need somebody to help you entertain, you know. The wife of a cabinet minister has to do lots of that. But I forgot–he isn’t a cabinet minister yet. But he will be, of course. Promise that you’ll have me, Aunt Beatrice, promise quick. I hear Uncle George and Aunt Bella coming.”

Aunt Beatrice promised. Margaret flew to the door.

“You’d better keep that dress,” she called back softly, as she opened it.