He and William are now at the Grange to spend Christmas with Harry and his wife; they are all expecting two other guests, for whom the warmest welcome of all has been prepared. Lady Braithwaite, growing old now, and reconciled to her daughter-in-law at last, is about to return to the home where her wedded life was passed, never to leave it again until the time comes for her too to sleep peacefully by her husband’s side in Garstone Churchyard; and Lilian is coming with her to spend a week at the old home. The winter sun is setting when Annie, on the alert for the sound of wheels, starts up from her seat in the morning-room and goes out on to the doorstep with William and George to receive Lady Braithwaite and her daughter, whom Harry had gone to meet at Beckham Station. Harry, who jumps out of the carriage first, gives way to his elder brother, and it is on Sir George’s arm that the stately old lady leans as she steps down from the carriage and meets her daughter-in-law. Lilian follows. She is thin and pale, and looks much older than Annie, who has recovered almost all the beauty of the shy little governess of eighteen who first attracted the attention of the wild Grange boys more than ten years ago. Lilian’s love of excitement and pleasure has told upon her health; she is not exactly an unhappy woman or an unloving wife; but her passionate nature has found something wanting in life, and in the eagerness of a vain search for it she has grown old before her time. When they are all together in the drawing-room after dinner, and the little boys, having begun to make themselves obnoxious by playing at ball over their grandmother’s head, have been kissed and sent to bed, the talk turns to town and what is going on there. “Oh, Annie, have you heard of the success of your old friend Aubrey Cooke?” asks Lilian. “I went to see him in this new piece in which they say he is so good, and I never felt myself so entirely carried away by any acting before. Everybody says he will be the greatest actor of the day.” “Ah, I thought I was going to be the greatest actress once!” Annie says, rather slowly. “Then he has fulfilled his ambition, and you have given up yours unfulfilled. Don’t you regret it just a little? Come--be candid!” Lilian speaks in a low voice, meant only for her sister-in-law’s ear. Annie hesitates, looking down at the fire with an expression which it is not easy to read. She is startled by finding her husband’s hand laid quietly on her shoulder. He has overheard these last words of Lilian’s, notices his wife’s reluctance to answer, and leaves his seat to speak to her. “Are you sorry you are not the wife of a great actor instead of a plain country gentleman, Annie?” “No, not in the least; I never thought of such a thing.” “Then why are you looking so thoughtful?” “Any news of people one has known well and lost sight of sets one thinking.” “I could give you some more news of him but that I am afraid it would make you sad.”