It was a still, hot day at the beginning of August, and through the broad, fan-like branches, stray sunbeams danced and twinkled, making little cores of light on the silver. Down one side of the lawn ran a terrace of grey stone, bordered by a broad gravel walk, and over the terrace pale monthly roses climbed and blossomed. Most of the windows in the house were darkened and eclipsed by Venetian blinds, to keep out the sun which still lingered on the face of it; and Mr. Martin, also--Mrs. Grampound's brother--was in a state of eclipse for the time being, for he wore a broad-brimmed Panama hat, which concealed the upper part of his face, while a large harlequin tea-cup prevented any detailed examination of his mouth. Mrs. Grampound sat opposite him in a low, basket chair, and appeared to be thinking. It is a privilege peculiar to owners of very fine, dark grey eyes, to appear to be thinking whenever they are not talking. Mr. Martin finished his tea, and lit a cigarette. "They've begun cutting the corn," he said; "it's very early." Mrs. Grampound did not answer, and her brother, considering that he had made his sacrifice on the altar of conversation, relapsed into silence again. Perhaps the obvious inference that the summer had been hot reminded her that the day was also hot, for in a minute or two she said,-- "Dear Eva! what a stifling journey she will have. She comes back to-night; she ought to be here by now." "Where has she been staying?" "At the Brabizons. Lord Hayes was there. He comes home at the end of the week; his mother arrived yesterday." "The old witch," murmured Mr. Martin. "Yes, but very old," said she, whose mind was apparently performing obligato variations on the theme of the conversation. "Haven't you noticed--" She broke off, and presumably continued the obligato variations. Mr. Martin showed no indications of having noticed anything at all, and the faint sounds of the summer evening pursued their whisperings unchecked until the distant rumble of carriage wheels began to overscore the dim noises, and came to a long pause, after a big crescendo, before the front door. "That will be Eva," said her mother, filling up the teapot; "they will tell her we are here." A few minutes afterwards, the drawing-room window was opened from inside, and a girl began to descend the little flying staircase. Apparently she was in no hurry, for she stooped to stroke a kitten that was investigating the nature of blind cord with an almost fanatical enthusiasm. The kitten was quite as eager to investigate the nature of the human hand, and flew at Eva's outstretched fingers, all teeth and claws. "You little brute!" she remarked, shaking it off. "Your claws want cutting. Oh! you are rather nice. Come, Kitty."