‘I hope I shall be equal to the occasion if unknown relations or ancient friends turn up; but I think I know as much about everybody there as Phil does, except for the blind Mr. Meredith whom I do not think he ever mentioned to me. There is Matilda with the singed front locks, and Bertha with the false ones; and the son Lewis who is sure to be a cad, and whose marriage with Maud I am to stop, which I am convinced I shall do _con amore_. Yes, I feel equal to the ordeal; my spirits rise to the occasion. I am quite anticipating the happy meeting between my long-lost family and myself!’ CHAPTER IV. THE EXILE’S RETURN. Five ladies were assembled in the drawing-room of Thornton House, and all five appeared to be in a state of expectancy, which in the cases of one or two amounted to positive excitement. It was a bright, hot evening in May, and the windows of the room stood open to the soft air without. This was an advantage as far as Maud Debenham was concerned, as she could hear the sound of approaching wheels from her position in the room, without wandering perpetually into the hall, as she felt disposed to do, only that her aunt had just forbidden any such ‘exhibition of restlessness.’ Mrs. Belassis sat in an easy-chair, with a gorgeous piece of silk embroidery upon her lap, at which she worked diligently; and yet, to those who knew her well, it was evident that she was listening with some impatience for an arrival which was every moment expected—the arrival of her nephew, Philip Debenham. She was a handsome woman, but with no softness or sweetness in her beauty. Her face was cold in colouring and expression, and the well-formed features were on a large and commanding scale. Her eyes were dark and penetrating, and there was no kindliness in their keen glance, and the sentiment they most often expressed was suspicion, contempt, or dislike. There was a certain power and cleverness in the face, but no trace of tenderness. Many people admired Mrs. Belassis, many came to consult her and to ask her advice; but no one loved her, or would dream of looking for sympathy from her in any trouble of mind or body. People only had their own folly to thank for nine-tenths of the ills that befell them, she affirmed, and therefore sympathy and assistance were misplaced if lavished upon them. It was a comfortable creed to hold, and one which her husband was more than willing to accept. It absolved them so satisfactorily from all claims of charity or benevolence. Mrs. Belassis was a hard, self-willed woman, and she looked it every inch.