Several ladies, including the general's wife, were present.

The room was lighted brilliantly, and a big fire burned in the wide fireplace at the end.
To Harry, three seats away from General Jackson, there was a startling contrast between the present moment and that swift campaign of theirs through the wintry mountains where the feet of the soldiers left bloody trails on the ice and snow.
It was a curious fact that for a few instants the mountain and the great cold were real and this was but fancy.

He looked more than once at the cheerful faces and the rosy glow of the fire, before he could convince himself that he was in truth here in Winchester, with all this comfort, even luxury, around him.
Sitting next to him was a lady of middle age, Mrs.Howard, of prominence in the town and a great friend of the Grahams.

Harry realized suddenly that while the others were talking he had said nothing, and he felt guilty of discourtesy.

He began an apology, but Mrs.Howard, who had known him very well since he had been in Winchester, learning to call him by his first name, merely smiled and the smile was at once maternal and somewhat sad.
"No apologies are needed, Harry," she said in a low tone that the others might not hear.