And he watched as she turned from him, and as Charlie turned from his daughter. And he felt as he felt frequently in the presence of these two friends-an amused sort of affection as it became obvious that if he fell through a hole in the ground and disappeared forever, they would not even notice.

“Ellen,” Charlie said, opening up his arms to her, “you are home.”

“Yes, Charlie,” she said. “At last.”

She did hesitate a moment, feeling the presence of the other two, but the pull of those extended arms was obviously too strong for her. She went into them and hid her face against her husband’s shoulder as he hugged her close and rocked her.

Lord Eden wondered as he had done a hundred times before at the deep affection that bound the two of them together. It was clear why Charlie doted on her. She was always quiet and cheerful and dignified. And she was rather lovely, with her slim, graceful figure, her shining fair hair drawn back into a knot at her neck, and her oval face with the large expressive eyes and straight nose and pretty mouth. One would not expect such a woman to be devoted to a man like Charlie, who was neither young nor handsome nor adept at the social graces.

It was good to see her back again. It was true that Charlie’s home had not seemed quite as comfortable a place without Mrs. Simpson in it, though when she was there she never made her presence obtrusive.

Lord Eden waited to be presented to the little beauty, who was eyeing him in some embarrassment and blushing most becomingly. Charlie had said, of course, that his daughter was pretty, but fond papas could frequently be unreliable when extolling the charms of their own daughters. On this occasion, though, the girl’s beauty had been underestimated, if anything. She was quite exquisite and quite the kind of woman who had always taken his fancy-small, well-endowed with curves, with a lovely eager face and a look of innocent timidity that called out for the protection of some male.