On the table by her side was a tray set with delicate china and silver,
over which the firelight played cheerily. It was a picture of luxurious
home comfort. She looked up as I entered with a grave, sweet smile.

"Your coffee is ready, Sir Edgar."

There was my favorite chair drawn up to the table. As I sat down I said
aloud:

"This is comfortable."

Her smile brightened and deepened.

"You are like Miles, Sir Edgar. No matter where he went, he always said
coming home was the most pleasant part of the day."

Then, with her white, jeweled hand, she poured out my coffee, and
certainly the aromatic fragrance was very pleasant.

"You must be like Miles in something else," she said. "He always
declared that I made better coffee than anyone else--better than he
tasted in all his travels. Do you not think the same?" And she looked at
me as anxiously as though the making of coffee to please me were the
chief aim of life.

"Was Sir John at home?" she asked, after a few minutes.

Then I had to describe my day, to give her a history of the coming fair,
in which she affected great interest.