"Come in here, Johnny." She was beginning to talk to me as we stood by the fire, when some one was heard to enter the inner room; Miss Deveen's bed-chamber, which opened from this room as well as from the landing. She crossed over into it, and I heard Cattledon's voice. "It is so very kind of you, Miss Deveen, to have allowed me to bring my niece here! Under the circumstances--with such a cloud upon her----" "She is quite welcome," interrupted Miss Deveen's voice. "Yes, I know that; I know it: and I could not go down without thanking you. I have told Lettice to take some tea up to her while we dine. She can come to the drawing-room afterwards if you have no objection." "Why can't she dine with us?" asked Miss Deveen. "Better not," said Cattledon. "She does not expect it; and with so many at table----" "Nonsense!" came Miss Deveen's quick, decisive interruption. "Many at table! There are sufficient servants to wait on us, and I suppose you have sufficient dinner. Go and bring her down." Miss Deveen came back, holding out her hand to me as she crossed the room. The gong sounded as we went down to the drawing-room. They all came crowding in, Tod last; and we went in to dinner. Miss Deveen, with her fresh, handsome face and her snow-white hair, took the head of the table. Cattledon, at the foot, a green velvet ribbon round her genteel throat, helped the soup. William Whitney sat on Miss Deveen's right, I on her left. Janet Carey sat next to him--and this brought her nearly opposite me. She had an old black silk on, with a white frill at the throat--very poor and plain as contrasted with the light gleaming silks of Helen and Anna. But she had nice eyes; their colour a light hazel, their expression honest and sweet. It was a pity she could not get some colour into her wan face, and a little courage into her manner. After coffee we sat down in the drawing-room to a round game at cards, and then had some music; Helen playing first. Janet Carey was at the table, looking at a view in an album. I went up to her. Had I caught her staring at some native Indians tarred and feathered, she could not have given a worse jump. It might have been fancy, but I thought her face turned white. "Did I startle you, Miss Carey? I am very sorry." "Oh, thank you--no. Every one is very kind. The truth is"--pausing a moment and looking at the view--"I knew the place in early life, and was lost in old memories. Past times and events connected with it came back to me. I recognized the place at once, though I was only ten years old when I left it." "Places do linger on the memory in a singularly vivid manner sometimes. Especially those we have known when young." "I can recognize every spot in this," she said, gazing still at the album. "And I have not seen it for fifteen years." "Fifteen. I--I understood you to say you were ten years old when you left it." "So I was. I am twenty-five now."