Why was that leaping figure so familiar? The two in the chairs awakened no memories. The lovely woman, with her fair skin and coils of shining hair; the man, long-limbed, freckled and ruddy—total strangers both. Yet this child, who called them “Father” and “Mother,” this little dark head, brown, oval face, black, level brows? Where had he met the imp before? His mind went back some twenty odd years to the Christmas after his eighth birthday. The kind Mayor had made a feast at the Townhall for the children from the Institution. They were given funny dresses to wear. A Highland dress was found for him, kilt and plaid and dirk complete. The little black velvet jacket had silver buttons with thistles on them. Some ladies talked about him. They said: “With those wonderful dark eyes and curls, he should have come as the Black Prince. Who is he?” They kissed him and gave him chocolates. He hated being kissed; but he liked the chocolates; and he liked being called the Black Prince. At one end of the hall there was a long mirror. He slipped away and stood before it. He had never before seen himself full length in a mirror. He held the box of chocolates above his head—— Why—yes! This little boy with the ball was an exact replica of the figure he had seen reflected in the mirror; a replica of himself. He felt dizzy—shaken. He was turning away; but at that moment, the hall beyond was illuminated. Something moved across it. A woman appeared in the open doorway—an arresting figure—a woman with snow-white hair, tall, stately, matronly; extraordinarily beautiful, with a calm, melancholy beauty; a woman well past middle age, yet with soft white skin, unwrinkled; upright carriage; a noble, gracious personality. “In the dark, children?” she said; then put out her hand, and the room flashed into light. “Grannie!” shouted the boy, and ran to meet her. With her hand upon his shoulder, she moved slowly into the middle of the room. The young man half rose, offering his chair. “Do not move, Colin,” she said, and went to the couch. The boy climbed up beside her, nestling his dark curls into the lace at her bosom. She put her arm about him with a gesture infinitely tender and protective. The younger woman spoke. “Colin and I were lazing in the firelight, mother. Then Nigel arrived with his ball, and forced us to be energetic.” The watcher at the window pressed closer to the pane. In the fascination of the scene he forgot to fear discovery. By the brighter light the couple appeared older than he had at first thought them. She was probably his own age, even older; her husband, two or three years her senior. She had inherited her mother’s remarkable beauty. It was good to see them together. The one revealed the youthful loveliness of the past; the other promised the maturer beauty yet to come; and both were very good to look upon.