It was her birthright, and would not be disguised.
Then she drew a low chair towards the stove, and once more the faint color crept into her face as she took up a note.

It was laconic, and requested permission to call at the Grange, but Maud Barrington was not deceived, and recognized the consideration each word had cost the man who wrote it.

Afterwards she glanced at her watch, raised it with a little gesture of impatience to make sure it had not stopped, and sat still, listening to the moaning of the wind, until the door opened and Miss Barrington came in.

She glanced at her niece, who felt that her eyes had noticed each detail of her somewhat unusual dress, but said nothing until the younger woman turned to her.
"They would scarcely come to-night, aunt," she said.

Miss Barrington, listening a moment, heard the wind that whirled the snow about the lonely building, but smiled incredulously.
"I fancy you are wrong, and I wish my brother were here," she said.
"We could not refuse Mr.Winston permission to call, but whatever passes between us will have more than its individual significance.
Anything we tacitly promise, the others will agree to, and I feel the responsibility of deciding for Silverdale." Miss Barrington went out; but her niece, who understood her smile and that she had received a warning, sat still with a strained expression in her eyes.