The Angel of His Presence by Grace Livingston Hill

Chapter One
     
    JOHN WENTWORTH STANLEY stood on the deck of an Atlantic liner looking off to sea and meditating. The line of smoke that floated away from his costly cigar followed the line of smoke from the steamer as if it were doing honest work to help get Mr. Stanley t o New York. The sea in the dis tance was sparkling and monotonous and the horizon line empty and bright, but Mr. Stanley seemed to see before him the hazy outlines of New York as they would appear in about twenty-four hours more, if all went well. And of course all would go well. He had no doubt of that. Everything had always gone well for him.
    Especially well had been these last two years of travel and study abroad. He re flected w ith satisfaction upon the knowl edge and experience he had gained in his own special lines, upon the polish he had acquired, and he glanced over himself, metaphorically speaking, and found no fault in John Wentworth Stanley. He was not too Parisian in his deferential manner, he was not too English in his deliberation, neither was he, that worst of all traits in his eyes, too American in his bluntness. He had acquired something from each nation, and considered that the combined result was good. It is a comfortable feeling to be satisfied with one's self.
    Nor had he been shut entirely out of the higher circles of foreign society. There were plea sant memories of delightful eve nings within the noble walls of exclusive homes, of d inners and other enjoyable occa sions with great personages where he had been an honored guest. When he thought of this, he raised his chest an inch higher and stood just a little straighter.
    There was also a memory picture of one, perhaps more, but notably of one " ladye of high degree," who had not shown indifference to his various charms. It was pleasant to feel that one could if one would. In due time he would consider this question more carefully. In the near future this lady was to visit America. He had promised himself, and her, the pleasure of showing her a few of his own country's attractions. And — well, he might go abroad again after that on business.
    His attention was not entirely distracted by his vision of the " ladye of high degree" from looking upon his old homeland and anticipating the scenes and the probable experiences that would be his in a few hours. Two years seemed a long time when he looked back upon it, though it had been brief in the passing. He would doubtless find changes, but there had been changes in him also. He was older; his tastes were— what should he say— developed? He would not take pleasure in the same way that he had taken it when he left, perhaps. He had learned that there were other things— things if not better, at least more cultured and less o ld-fashioned than his former di versions. Of course he did not despise his upbringing, nor his homeland, but he had other interests now as well, which would take much of his time. He had been from home long enough for the place he left to have closed behind him, and he would have no difficulty in staying "dropped out." He expected to spend much of his time in New York. O f course he would make his head quarters at home, where his father and mother were living, in a small city within a short distance of America's metropolis.
    His man—he had picked up an excellent one while traveling through Scotland—had gone on ahead to unpack and put in place the various objects of art, and other treasures he had gathered on his travels. He had not as yet become so accustomed to the man that he could not do without him from day to day, and had found it conve nient to send him home on the ship ahead of his own.
    He wondered what his homecoming would be like. His father and mother would, of course, be glad to see him and give him their own welcome. But even with them he could not feel that he was coming home to a place where he was indispens able. They had other children, his brothers and sisters, married and living not far from