"I know, auntie," she said. "No; I shouldn't think Laurie'll mind
much. Perhaps he'll go back to town in the morning, too."

"No, my dear, he's staying till Thursday."

* * * * *

There fell again one of those pleasant silences that are possible in
the country. Outside the garden, with the meadows beyond the village
road, lay in that sweet September hush of sunlight and mellow color
that seemed to embalm the house in peace. From the farm beyond the
stable-yard came the crowing of a cock, followed by the liquid chuckle
of a pigeon perched somewhere overhead among the twisted chimneys.
And within this room all was equally at peace. The sunshine lay on
table and polished floor, barred by the mullions of the windows, and
stained here and there by the little Flemish emblems and coats that
hung across the glass; while those two figures, so perfectly in place
in their serenity and leisure, sat before the open fire-place and
contemplated the very unpeaceful element that had just walked upstairs
incarnate in a pale, drawn-eyed young man in black.

The house, in fact, was one of those that have a personality as marked
and as mysterious as of a human character. It affected people in quite
an extraordinary way. It took charge of the casual guest, entertained
and soothed and sometimes silenced him; and it cast upon all who lived
in it an enchantment at once inexplicable and delightful. Externally
it was nothing remarkable.

It was a large, square-built house, close indeed to the road, but
separated from it by a high wrought-iron gate in an oak paling, and a