“You!” cried Mollie! “Mr Melland! It can’t be! What does it mean? You can’t really be here!”
He laughed at that, and took a step forward, like the masterful Jack of old.
“I am here; it is myself, and nobody else! I’ll tell you all about it if you will let me in. It’s rather cold to-night, you know.”
She held the door wide open at that, and hurried him across the hall into the little, pink-lighted room, which she had just prepared for another’s reception. There they stood face to face, staring at each other for a breathless moment.
“I thought you were in Raby—”
“So I was yesterday. I left this morning, and came down by the first train.”
“Mrs Thornton promised to write. I thought you were the postman just now; and, of course, one cannot help being curious.—Have you come to tell us anything nice? Did Uncle Bernard remember us at all?”
“He has left your sister his wife’s rubies. They are very beautiful, I am told, and of considerable value.”
“Oh, I am glad! Ruth will be pleased; and she will be able to wear them when she is married. How beautiful she will look! And—and me?”
Jack shook his head.