yet come right between us; for it's a long time ago, a weary while since
we parted, and they ought to find it easier to forget than I do!" Then
she had charged her grand-daughter, when the lunch was ready, to ring a
bell, and she would send them down. "Or even, mayhap, I may come down
myself," she had added, "leaning on the arm of my son."

So the bell was rung, and Laura and Mrs. Peter Melcombe waited for the
grandmother and her guests with no little trepidation.

They had not intended to be cordial. Their notion of their own part in
this interview was that they should be able to show a certain courteous
coldness, a certain calm gravity in their demeanour towards these two
uncles, but neither of them knew much of the world or of herself. They
no sooner saw the majestic old men come in without their mother than
Laura, feeling herself blush down to her very finger tips, retreated
into the background, and Mrs. Peter Melcombe, suddenly finding that she
had forgotten what she had intended to say, could scarcely collect
enough composure to answer the gentle courtesy of their rather distant
greeting.

A sort of urban polish struck her country sense, making her feel at once
that she was a rustic, and that they belonged to a wider and more
cultivated world. She felt herself at a disadvantage, and was angry with
herself that it should be so, in that house of all places in the world,
where she had every right to hold up her head, and they had surely
reason to be ashamed of themselves.

Peter was the only person present who was at ease; the unwonted joy of
finding himself in the "great parlour" had excited him. He had been
wandering about examining the china vases and admiring the little