"It does seem a strange upheaval to us who look on. The days of tyrannical parents are gone, it is not the young who have their spirits broken, it is their poor parents sitting in desolate homes, and in many cases having no descendants to carry on their name and race. But, in spite of all this, homes and parents will be loved and respected again. Reaction will set in. I heard of a young girl the other day, one of four brothers and sisters, all working and living in town. She came into an unexpected legacy. And how do you think she spent it? She wanted to benefit the others beside herself and she spent it all in establishing herself in a country house, so that the London workers should have one haven of rest and comfort to which they could come. She had the home-making instinct, you say. But what she did, others will do by and by. The restless rush will cease." "I wish, oh I wish I could think so," said Anstice. They talked on after lunch in Anstice's pretty morning-room over a blazing log fire, Mrs. Fergusson busily sewing at her pretty needlework, and Anstice embroidering some frocks for the little girls. "There is one point for which you must be thankful," Mrs. Fergusson said, towards the end of their conversation; "your small stepdaughters have got a deep and adoring love for their home. They will never stay long away from it when they get older. I do not think the lure of town gaiety, and bustle, will have any attraction for them." "Yes, they are devoted to their home. They consider the lake and Fells as all part of their personal possessions. It's strange; for their mother, I hear, never was happy here; neither is their father." "But I hear he is very tenacious over his property; he will not let an inch of land go out of his possession. If I may say so, I think the discomforts in his home have driven him out of it. Men are generally selfish as regards their own comfort and ease." "Perhaps so." Then, as Mrs. Fergusson rose to go, Anstice said impulsively: "I am going to try to wean him from his wanderings. Wish me success!" "I feel positively certain you will have it," said Mrs. Fergusson; "and you certainly will deserve it." BOOK II FRIENDS CHAPTER I MISSING SNOW-CAPPED Helvellyn's heights. Butterdale Manor looked out upon white-crested Fells across a dark purple lake. The house itself was shuttered up for the night. Justin Holme, in a thick overcoat, stepped out of a car, and made his way up to his front door. He had sent no word of his arrival in England. It was his fancy to take his family unaware. The respectable maid who opened the door to him was a stranger to him, and he to her. She asked his name. He gave a short laugh. "You need not announce me. I'll announce myself." He slipped out of his coat, gave directions about his luggage, then made his way across the hall to the drawing-room. The door was ajar, and he saw lights within.