"Yes, " said the sweet voice again, "I know who you are. Your
aunt told me all about you and I trust we shall be friends."

Ruth followed her up the gravelled path to the house, and into
the parlour, where a wood fire blazed cheerily upon the hearth.
"It is so damp this time of year," she went on, "that I like to
keep my fire burning."

While they were talking, Ruth's eyes rested with pleasure upon
her hostess. She herself was tall, but Miss Ainslie towered above
her. She was a woman of poise and magnificent bearing, and she
had the composure which comes to some as a right and to others
with long social training.

Her abundant hair was like spun silver--it was not merely white,
but it shone. Her skin was as fresh and fair as a girl's, and
when she smiled, one saw that her teeth were white and even; but
the great charm of her face was her eyes. They were violet, so
deep in colour as to seem almost black in certain lights, and
behind them lay an indescribable something which made Ruth love
her instinctively. She might have been forty, or seventy, but she
was beautiful, with the beauty that never fades.

At intervals, not wishing to stare, Ruth glanced around the room.
Having once seen the woman, one could not fail to recognise her
house, for it suited her. The floors were hardwood, highly
polished, and partly covered with rare Oriental rugs. The walls
were a soft, dark green, bearing no disfiguring design, and the
windows were draped with net, edged with Duchesse lace. Miss