"I have been watching you under the arbutus tree," observed her uncle, "but you did not appear much interested in your book. Is it not an entertaining one?"
"Not very—at least, I did not find it so. Doris lent it to me."
Felicia glanced at the small table, minus now the beautiful Venetian vase. Her uncle followed the direction of her eyes, and he said impulsively—
"It was good of you to come and see me to-night, child; I don't think I could have done it in your place. I should have been more inclined to stay away and leave my cantankerous uncle to himself."
"That's just what I did feel inclined to do," confessed Felicia ingenuously.
"Then what made you come?" he asked in astonishment.
"I thought it would be unkind to stay away—if you wanted me."
"You had not forgotten that I had treated you unkindly last night?"
"No; and Lion has not forgotten how you treated him either. Look at him, Uncle Guy."
He turned his attention to the dog. The sagacious animal was watching him with a look of mingled doubt and sadness, which seemed to say, "I am disappointed in you—you have not served me fairly," but he proved magnanimous, and when Mr. Guy patted his head and spoke to him in a gentle tone, his reproachful eyes softened, and his whole demeanour showed that he was willing to overlook past injustice, if he could not forget it.