Minna, as a rule, dined somewhat earlier, but to-day she was expecting her brother, who could not arrive in time for her to dine before eight or after. ‘I will go with you to the gate,’ she said, rising also; and they passed out of the room. ‘Where has Signor Oriole gone, I wonder!’ speculated Fulvia. Minna had noticed several times of late, when he did not present himself some time during her visit, or appear about the time of her departure, she looked round as if she missed him, and generally asked where he was. ‘He will, perhaps, be somewhere in the garden,’ she said, as they went along the hall towards the front-door. Just before they reached it was heard a loud crunching of the gravel and rumbling of wheels, and a waggonette drove up and stopped before the door, looking very big, and making a huge barrier before the low, old-fashioned entrance. ‘Aunt Minna!’ cried a shrill, excited voice from the waggonette. ‘There they are; I met them on the road.’ ‘They!’ repeated Minna. ‘Is the child out of her senses?’ She came to a dead stop, staring at the party in the waggonette. Then she bestowed one swift glance upon Fulvia, and hated herself for not being able to prevent herself from doing so. Fulvia’s face did not change; only she looked very grave and quiet. Rhoda had scrambled down from the vehicle in a state of high glee. Following her was a tall man with a pale face and a certain severity in his expression. This was Mr. Hamilton, whom everyone accused of being the reverse of severe, given to far too great a leniency in matters as to which society held certain unshakable traditional opinions. His grave face relaxed as his eyes fell upon Minna and upon the joyous figure of his young daughter. Rising from his seat, to get out after Mr. Hamilton, was Hans Riemann. After a moment’s silence Minna advanced. Fulvia remained somewhat in the background, gravely waiting. The brother and sister greeted each other. Then he said: ‘My dear Minna, look here!’ He turned to where Hans Riemann stood in the doorway, half smiling, not in the least deprecatory, not in the least embarrassed. ‘Hans turned up at my place last night, not knowing I was coming here, and intending to pay me a visit. So, as I know you have plenty of room, I just brought him on, and hope it is all right.’ It was not all right. Minna felt most distinctly that it was not all right; but, even had it been a great deal more wrong than it was, the appeal to her hospitality would have disarmed her. She smiled.