She flushed slightly for a moment, but, speedily recovering herself, said: “Yes, we knew them once. They had just come to the country, and purchased that estate, when our misfortunes overtook us. They showed us much attention, and such kindness as strangers could show, and they evinced a disposition to continue it; but, of course, our relative positions made intercourse impossible. I am afraid,” said she, hastily, “I am talking in riddles all this time. I ought to have told you that my brother once owned a good estate here. We Barringtons thought a deal of ourselves in those days.” She tried to say these words with a playful levity, but her voice shook, and her lip trembled in spite of her. Conyers muttered something unintelligible about “his having heard before,” and his sorrow to have awakened a painful theme; but she stopped him hastily, saying, “These are all such old stories now, one should be able to talk them over unconcernedly; indeed, it is easier to do so than to avoid the subject altogether, for there is no such egotist as your reduced gentleman.” She made a pretext of giving him his tea, and helping him to something, to cover the awkward pause that followed, and then asked if he intended to accept the invitation to Cobham. “Not if you will allow me to remain here. The doctor says three days more will see me able to go back to my quarters.” “I hope you will stay for a week, at least, for I scarcely expect my brother before Saturday. Meanwhile, if you have any fancy to visit Cobham, and make your acquaintance with the family there, remember you have all the privileges of an inn here, to come and go, and stay at your pleasure.” “I do not want to leave this. I wish I was never to leave it,” muttered he below his breath. “Perhaps I guess what it is that attaches you to this place,” said she, gently. “Shall I say it? There is something quiet, something domestic here, that recalls 'Home.'” “But I never knew a home,” said Conyers, falteringly. “My mother died when I was a mere infant, and I knew none of that watchful love that first gives the sense of home. You may be right, however, in supposing that I cling to this spot as what should seem to me like a home, for I own to you I feel very happy here.” “Stay then, and be happy,” said she, holding out her hand, which he clasped warmly, and then pressed to his lips. “Tell your friend to come over and dine with you any day that he can tear himself from gay company and a great house, and I will do my best to entertain him suitably.”