She was more like a princess, yes, far more like a princess, than the lady
who still hung on the wall in Tant Sannie's bedroom. So Em thought. She
leaned back in the little armchair; she wore a grey dressing-gown, and her
long hair was combed out and hung to the ground. Em, sitting before her,
looked up with mingled respect and admiration.

Lyndall was tired after her long journey, and had come to her room early.
Her eyes ran over the familiar objects. Strange to go away for four years,
and come back, and find that the candle standing on the dressing-table
still cast the shadow of an old crone's head in the corner beyond the
clothes-horse. Strange that even a shadow should last longer than a man!
She looked about among the old familiar objects; all was there, but the old
self was gone.

"What are you noticing?" asked Em.

"Nothing and everything. I thought the windows were higher. If I were
you, when I get this place I should raise the walls. There is not room to
breathe here. One suffocates."

"Gregory is going to make many alterations," said Em; and drawing nearer to
the grey dressing-gown respectfully. "Do you like him, Lyndall? Is he not
handsome?"

"He must have been a fine baby," said Lyndall, looking at the white dimity
curtain that hung above the window.

Em was puzzled.

"There are some men," said Lyndall, "whom you never can believe were babies