“Draw up to the hearth, my boy,” said the Major, when the fire burned. “Even if you aren't cold, it looks cheerful, you know--draw up, draw up,” and he at once began to question his grandson about the London streets, evoking as he talked dim memories of his own early days in England. He asked after St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey half as if they were personal friends of whose death he feared to hear; and upon being answered that they still stood unchanged, he pressed eagerly for the gossip of the Strand and Fleet Street. Was Dr. Johnson's coffee-house still standing? and did Dan remember to look up the haunts of Mr. Addison in his youth? “I've gotten a good deal out of Champe,” he confessed, “but I like to hear it again--I like to hear it. Why, it takes me back forty years, and makes me younger.” And when Champe came in from his ride, he found the old gentleman upon the hearth-rug, his white hair tossing over his brow, as he recited from Mr. Addison with the zest of a schoolboy of a hundred years ago. “Hello, Beau! I hope you got your clothes,” was Champe's greeting, as he shook his cousin's hand. “Oh, they turned up all right,” said Dan, carelessly, “and, by-the-way, there was an India shawl for grandma in that very trunk.” Champe crossed to the fireplace and stood fingering one of the tall vases. “It's a pity you didn't stop by Uplands,” he observed. “You'd have found Virginia more blooming than ever.” “Ah, is that so?” returned Dan, flushing, and a moment afterward he added with an effort, “I met Betty in the turnpike, you know.” Six months ago, he remembered, he had raved out his passion for Virginia, and to-day he could barely stammer Betty's name. A great silence; seemed to surround the thought of her. “So she told me,” replied Champe, looking steadily at Dan. For a moment he seemed about to speak again; then changing his mind, he left the room with a casual remark about dressing for supper. “I'll go, too,” said Dan, rising from his seat. “If you'll believe me, I haven't spoken to my old love, Aunt Emmeline. So proud a beauty is not to be treated with neglect.” He lighted one of the tall candles upon the mantel-piece, and taking it in his hand, crossed the hall and went into the panelled parlour, where Great-aunt Emmeline, in the lustre of her amber brocade, smiled her changeless smile from out the darkened canvas. There was wit in her curved lip and spirit in her humorous gray eyes, and the marble whiteness of her brow, which had brought her many lovers in her lifetime, shone undimmed beneath the masses of her chestnut hair. With her fair body gone to dust, she still held her immortal apple by the divine right of her remembered beauty.