Here she had been born; from here she had gone away a bride; from here her parents had been buried, both within that same strange year that left her widowed who had scarcely been a wife.

And to this old house she had returned alone in her sombre weeds--utterly alone, in her nineteenth year.
This man had met her then as he met her now; she remembered it, remembered, too, that after any absence, no matter how short, this old friend had always met her at her own door-sill, standing aside with head bent as she crossed the sill.
Now she gave him both hands.
"It is so kind of you, dear Colonel Arran! It would not be a home-coming without you--" And glancing into the hall, nodded radiantly to the assembled servants--her parents' old and privileged and spoiled servants gathered to welcome the young mistress to her own.
"Oh--and there's Missy!" she said, as an inquiring "meow!" sounded close to her skirts.

"You irresponsible little thing--I suppose you have more kittens.

Has she, Susan ?" "Five m'm," said Susan drily.
"Oh, dear, I suppose it can't be avoided.

But we mustn't drown any, you know." And with one hand resting on Colonel Arran's arm she began a tour of the house to inspect the new improvements.
Later they sat together amid the faded splendours of the southern drawing-room, where sunshine regilded cornice and pier glass, turned the lace curtains to nets of gold, and streaked the red damask hangings with slanting bars of fire.
Shiftless old Jonas shuffled in presently with the oval silver tray, ancient decanters, and seedcakes.
And here, over their cakes and Madeira, she told him about her month's visit to the Craigs'; about her life in the quaint and quiet city, the restful, old-fashioned charm of the cultivated circles on Columbia Heights and the Hill; the attractions of a limited society, a little dull, a little prim, pedantic, perhaps provincially simple, but a society caring for the best in art, in music, in literature, instinctively recognising the best although the best was nowhere common in the city.
She spoke of the agreeable people she had met--unobtrusive, gentle-mannered folk whose homes may have lacked such Madeira and silver as this, but lacked nothing in things of the mind.
She spoke of her very modest and temporary duties in church work there, and in charities; told of the advent of the war news and its effect on the sister city.
And at last, casually, but without embarrassment, she mentioned Berkley.
Colonel Arran's large hand lay along the back of the Virginia sofa, fingers restlessly tracing and retracing the carved foliations supporting the horns of plenty.