He hurried into the hall, driven by the spur of duty. They were crossing the vestibule. Jones, who had preceded them in a taxicab, was holding open the great hall door. Dawes and Higgs, shivering quite as much with excitement as from the chilly blast that swept in through the storm-doors, occupied a point of vantage directly behind the butler. They suggested a reception committee. Frederic was obliged to remain in the background. He heard his father's warm, almost gay response to the greetings of the old men, whose hands he wrung with fervour that was unmistakable. He heard him present them to the new Mrs Brood as “the best old boys in all the world,” and they were both saying, with spasmodic cackles of pleasure, that she “mustn't believe a word the young rascal said.” He was struck by the calm, serene manner in which she accepted these jocular contributions to the occasion. Her smile was friendly, her handshake cordial, and yet there was an unmistakable air of tolerance, as of one who is accustomed to tribute. The rather noisy acclamations of the old adventurers brought no flush of embarrassment to her cheek; not the flicker of an eyelid, nor a protesting word or frown. She merely smiled and thanked them in simple, commonplace phrases. Frederic, who was given to forming swift impressions, most of which sprang from his own varying moods and were seldom permanent, formed an instant and rather startling opinion of the newcomer. She was either a remarkable actress or a woman whose previous station in life had been far more exalted than the one she now approached. He had an absurd notion that he might be looking upon a person of noble birth. Her voice was low-pitched and marked by huskiness that was peculiar in that it was musical, not throaty. Frederic, on first seeing her, had leaped to the conclusion that her English would not be perfect. He was somewhat surprised to discover that she had but the faintest trace of an accent. The exchange of greetings at the door seemed to him unnecessarily prolonged. He stood somewhat apart from the little circle, uncomfortable and distinctly annoyed with the old men who, in their garrulous gallantry, blocked the way in both directions. He awoke suddenly, however, to the realisation that he had been looking into his new stepmother's eyes for a long time and that she was returning his gaze with some intensity. “And this?” she said, abruptly breaking in upon one of Danbury's hasty reminiscences, effectually ending it. “This is Frederic?” She came directly toward the young man, her small, gloved hand extended. Her eyes were looking into his with an intentness that disconcerted him. There was no smile on her lips. It was as if she regarded this moment as a pronounced crisis. Frederic mumbled something fatuous about being glad to see her, and felt his face burn under her steady gaze. His father came forward.