“Ella didn’t tell you that I was coming?” said he.  “She had the best of reasons for her reticence.”

“Ah!”

The sound came from Ella.  There was a little scornful smile on her face.

“The best of reasons?” said Phyllis interrogatively.

“The very best; she had no idea that I was coming.  I wonder if she is glad to see me.  She has not spoken a word to me yet.”

“You have startled her by your sudden appearance,” said Phyllis.  “She is not certain whether you are flesh and blood or a ghost.”

Then Ella gave a laugh.

“Oh, yes!” she said.  “He is my husband.  Go on with what you have to say, Stephen.  I will not run away.”

“Run away?  What nonsense is this, my dear?  Run away?  Who said anything about your running away?”

Her husband had advanced to her as he spoke.  He put a hand caressingly on one of her bare arms and the other at the back of her head.  She suffered him to press her head forward until he put his lips upon her forehead.

When he had released her, and had taken a step back from her,—­he seemed abut to address Phyllis,—­a little cry forced itself from her.  She called his name twice,—­the second time louder,—­and threw herself into his arms, burying her face on his shoulder, as she had buried it on Phyllis’ shoulder.

In a few moments, however, she looked up.  Her husband was patting her on the arm.  She had acquired two new gems since she had bent her head.  They were shining in her eyes.

“Don’t go away, Phyllis dear,” she said.  Phyllis and her father were standing at the portiere between the drawing rooms.  Mr. Ayrton had a hand at the embroidered edge in the act of raising it.  “Don’t go away.  I am all right now.  I was quite dazed at Stephen’s sudden appearance.  I thought that perhaps he had—­had——­Ah, I scarcely know what I thought.  How did you come here—­why did you come here?”

She had turned to her husband.  In spite of her manifestation of affection,—­the result of a certain relief which she experienced at that moment,—­there was a note of something akin to indignation in her voice.

“It is very simple, my dear,” replied her husband.  His curiously sallow face had resumed its usual expressionless appearance.  “Nothing could be more simple.  I got a telegram at Paris regarding the mine, and I had to start at a moment’s notice.  I wrote out a telegram to send to you, and that idiotic courier put it into the pocket of my overcoat instead of sending it.  I found it in my pocket when we had come as far as Canterbury.  I am not one of those foolish husbands who keep these pleasant surprises for their wives—­it is usually the husband who receives the surprise in such cases.”

“And the coachman told you that he had driven me here?” said Ella.