One of the great polished doors opened a little? softly, and the mistress of the house came in. She was rather a contrast to it all. Perhaps she had not yet made her toilette for the afternoon; she was in a very plain dress, and came in drawing a shawl around her. Not a handsome shawl either; the lady's whole appearance was most absolutely without pretension, and so was her manner. But the manner was not artless; it gave you the impression that she always knew what she was saying and had a reason for saying it. And the face, which had once been handsome, and might still have laid claim to some distinction, seemed likewise to lay claim to nothing, beyond the possession of sense and discernment and knowledge of the world. "Mr. Southwode!" she said as she closed the door. "You are quite a stranger." She was far too acute to tell Mr. Digby how welcome a visiter he was. She let the fact sufficiently appear in her smile and the tones of her greeting. "I think, you have been a stranger here too, Mrs. Busby. Were you not late in returning to town?" "Yes-- September was so warm! But I think eight months of the year is sufficient to spend in the city. Soul and body want the cultivation of nature for the other four; don't you think so? The ocean and the mountains are better than books. There is enlargement of the faculties to be sought, as well as stores for the memory." "And what mountains, and what sea, have you been looking upon this summer?" "We have seen no mountains this year; we kept to the sea beach. Except for a short interval. And you, Mr. Southwode? What have you done with yourself?" "My last achievement was to let somebody run into me, in the Park, and sprain my ankle in consequence." There followed of course inquiries and a full account of the affair. Mr. Digby could not be let off with less; and then advice and recipes, in the giving of which Mrs. Busby was quite motherly. "And have you resolved at last to make your home in America?" she asked after this. "I make my home wherever I am," the young man replied, with his slight grave smile. "But surely you do not think it well for any ordinary mortal to imitate the Wandering Jew, and have a settled home nowhere?" said Mrs. Busby, shewing her white teeth, of which she had a good many and in good order. "It may be best for some people," the young man said lightly. "But I came to speak to you about a matter of business. Mrs. Busby, pardon me for asking, had you once a sister?" There was a change in the lady's face, marked enough, yet not so as to strike any but a nice observer. The bland smile faded from her lips, the lines about her mouth took a harder set, the eyes were more watchfully on the alert. "Yes," she said quietly, not shewing her surprise. "I have a sister." "Have you heard from her lately?"