But there were certain features in connection with Giovanna’s proposed visit to Catanzaro which she had not deemed it advisable to reveal to anyone. The fact was that old Signora Rispani was quite a wealthy person for one in her station of life, and Vanna, who had always been her favourite granddaughter, was drawn to her death-bed more by the hope of inheriting, if not the whole, then a very considerable portion of her money, than by any real affection which she entertained for the old lady. In telling Sir Gilbert that her grandmother had expressed a strong desire to see her she had stated more than she was warranted in doing. In reality it was the signora’s medical attendant who, in accordance with an arrangement Giovanna had made with him before coming to England, had informed her by letter of her grandmother’s critical condition. It will be enough to state here that the signora held out for several weeks after her granddaughter’s arrival, so that it was not till towards the middle of October that Mrs. Clare, richer by some hundreds of pounds than she had been on her arrival, once more set her face Englandwards, with a devout hope in her heart that she should never be under the necessity of setting eyes on Catanzaro or any of its inhabitants again. But many strange things had happened while she had been away. CHAPTER XXIX. ARRIVALS AT THE CHASE It was in the course of the afternoon of the second day after the departure of Mrs. Clare that Lady Pell, accompanied by Miss Ethel Thursby, arrived at Withington Chase (her maid, in company with the luggage, would follow later on). They had been driven over from the Shrublands in Mrs. Forester’s landau. Sir Gilbert was waiting in the entrance-hall to receive them. As Lady Pell advanced he went forward with outstretched hand. “Welcome, Louisa, thrice welcome to the Chase!” he said in his most cordial tones. “It is indeed an immense pleasure to me to see you again after so long a time.” With that he drew her closer, and stooping a little—for tall though her ladyship was, he was considerably the taller of the two—imprinted a cousinly salute on her cheek, which might once have been round, but was so no longer. Sir Gilbert had never kissed her but once previously, when she was a girl of eighteen, and only a few hours before her mother’s illness had summoned her away at a moment’s notice. It was a kiss which had given birth in her heart to many delicious hopes, never destined to be fulfilled, and it still lived in her memory like the faint vague fragrance exhaled from a _pot-pourri_. But to-day her cousin’s second kiss, so wholly unexpected, recalled in all its pain and all its sweetness that incident of long ago. For a moment or two her heart throbbed so that she could not speak. Then, with a little shiver, she came back to the present.