The fatigue she felt after such a long journey excused her from talking much. She sat very quiet during dinner, feeling scarcely awake, and hardly catching the sense of the talk going on around her. Lilian did not know very much about the odds for the great races which were under discussion; but she liked to think she did, and joined in the conversation confidently. Lady Braithwaite listened with interest to the sort of squabbling laying down of the law on their favorite subjects to which her sons had accustomed her for years. Harry was rampant, rejoicing to find himself once more able to hold his own in the talk around him; he drank more than usual, contradicted everybody, and, as George quietly said, did his best to make his unobtrusive presence felt. Annie alone took no part in it all, but sat dreading the time when she should have to accompany the other ladies into the drawing-room and be at their mercy. At last the moment came. She followed them quietly, receiving a parting chill at the dining-room door from the steady way in which crippled Stephen, who liked to show his activity by jumping up to open the door for them, though he was not the nearest to it, looked on the ground, and not at her, as she passed. It was not so bad as she had expected, after all. Lilian had no pettiness, and did not descend to small persecutions. She did not show much cordiality, but hunted out all the newest songs from among the music for Annie to try, and then left her to amuse herself. Annie was grateful for this; it took her out of the range of Lady Braithwaite’s disapproving eyes, and the occupation of trying new music kept her own tears from falling. She could defend herself or even attack boldly in argument or dispute, but this armed coldness took all the spirit out of her; she could retreat behind her natural reserve and seem not to care, but there followed a bitter reaction when she was alone. It was a long time before the gentlemen came in to break the silence in the drawing-room. Lady Braithwaite was dozing, Lilian was sitting on the hearth-rug, playing with a retriever pup, Annie was softly trying over songs at the piano at the other end. Sounds of high voices and loud laughter came from time to time across the hall; at last they heard the dining-room door open, and Harry’s voice above the rest in tones of high excitement. “I tell you I can prove it, I can prove it!” he was saying to George as they two came in first; his face was flushed and his gait unsteady, and his manner more dictatorial than ever. “How can you prove it?” asked George, who might have been drinking as much, but who showed it less. “By a paper I’ve got somewhere. Annie,” said he to his wife, scarcely turning toward where she sat at the piano, “where is that American paper the colonel gave me, about the trotting-matches?” “I packed it with your papers. I can find it if you want it.”