was laid for breakfast; moreover, the parlour was already swept and dusted. In fact, at the precise moment of June's belated appearance upon the scene, William, with a businesslike air, was returning from a visit to the dustbin.
When they met in the passage by the scullery she came within an ace of rebuking him. "Even if I oversleep myself you've no right to be so officious," was the sharp phrase which rose to her lips. But a saving sense of justice, not always at the service of the female soul, held it back. After all, such kindness and devotion were worthy of respect; he had saved, besides, an unpleasant scene with Uncle Si.
"Oh, thank you, William, ever so much," she had the grace to murmur, hoping as she hastily disposed of the last button of her dress, that he wouldn't notice she had come down, "half undone."
"Please don't mention it, Miss June," he said, with the politeness of a courtier, as he returned the empty dustpan to its home beneath the scullery sink. "As you didn't seem quite yourself last night I was hoping you would not get up at all this morning. I was going to bring your breakfast up to you, and set it outside your door."
"Oh, but you are much too kind." A sudden fierce rush of colour made her cheeks burn horribly. He was a very nice fellow, even if he was not so bright in some things as he ought to be.
Uncle Si, by the grace of providence, was a few minutes late for his breakfast. This seldom happened for, as a rule, he was the soul of punctuality. However, he was going down to Newbury by the nine o'clock from Paddington to attend a sale; in conse-
