Entering the hall he saw Nita going across it, with a large crystal bowl of flowers in her hand. She had on a black flowing dress of something soft and gauzy, with knots of brightly-hued ribbons here and there. Whether by design or by accident, she had greatly improved her appearance, and looked as nearly pretty as it was possible for her to be; but the air of delicacy and a slight languor, speaking of a constitution not of the strongest kind, prevented her from being really beautiful. But she was agreeable, even attractive to look at, and had quaint original little ways which gave a charm to her. If she did not move with the air of a great lady, nor shine with the noble beauty of Sara Ford, she was yet not without her charm, as Jerome felt, when she paused, balancing the vase in her hands, looking up at him and smiling. ‘You have had a long stroll, Mr. Wellfield, and I am sure you will be tired. William,’ she added, to a page-boy who then appeared upon the scene, ‘show Mr. Wellfield to the blue-room, and send Mary to see that he has all he wants.’ When Jerome came down again, the same boy appeared, and invited him into the drawing-room. How well he remembered it as he had last seen it, and how great was the contrast between the dim old room of sixteen years ago and the luxurious one of to-day, furnished in the richest and most approved style, with gorgeously decorated ceiling, and every kind of ‘upholsterer’s darling’ in the shape of easy-chairs, couches and lounges, scattered about! Nita was there with her work, and Mr. Bolton with the newspapers, and a third person, a young man whose face, as Jerome looked at him, brought back the past with a vividness, with a rush, as it were, which more than ever carried him backwards, and made the immediate past seem like a dream in the light of sixteen years ago. ‘John Leyburn, if I am in my right mind!’ he exclaimed, for him almost eagerly. ‘I think you may safely assume that your judgment does not misguide you.’ ‘Though you _do_ say that the evidence of your own senses is the last thing you would believe, John,’ observed Nita, with asperity. John laughed, as he shook hands with Wellfield. ‘Not the last thing I would believe, but the first thing I would distrust, if I had grounds for doubting about anything,’ he answered. ‘And how have you been going on?’ asked Jerome, after the usual fashion of one man to another. To which Leyburn replied modestly: ‘Oh, fairly well.’ ‘Fairly well, indeed!’ retorted Nita. ‘You have got on very well indeed, John. My cousin has got a big house and a big mill, and a huge business, all to himself, Mr. Wellfield. And he calls that getting on “fairly well.”’ ‘And you?’ asked Leyburn. ‘I—very ill, as no doubt you have heard. But that doesn’t matter. I am glad to see you again. Do you live at Abbot’s Knoll yet? Do you remember coming down here to do Latin with my tutor, Phillips? What an age it seems since then!’ ‘I remember,’ said John, deliberately.