home?" she cries, though she had been in it but once before, regarding
lovingly each object as her eye rested upon it, nay, caressingly when she
came to the great punch-bowl and the carved mahogany dresser, and the
Peter Lely over the broad fireplace. "What memories they must bring to
your mind, my dear," she remarks to her husband. "'Tis cruel, as I once
said to dear papa, that we cannot always live under the old rafters we
loved so well as children." And the good lady brushes away a tear with
her embroidered pocket-napkin. Tears that will come in spite of us all.
But she brightens instantly and smiles at the line of servants drawn up
to welcome them. "This is Scipio, my son, who was with your grandfather
when your father was born, and before." Master Philip nods graciously in
response to Scipio's delighted bow. "And Harvey," my aunt rattles on.
"Have you any new mares to surprise us with this year, Harvey?" Harvey
not being as overcome with Mrs. Grafton's condescension as was proper,
she turns again to Mr. Carvel.

"Ah, father, I see you are in sore need of a woman's hand about the old
house. What a difference a touch makes, to be sure." And she takes off
her gloves and attacks the morning room, setting an ornament here and
another there, and drawing back for the effect. "Such a bachelor's hall
as you are keeping!"

"We still have Willis, Caroline," remonstrates my grandfather, gravely.
"I have no fault to find with her housekeeping."

"Of course not, father; men never notice," Aunt Caroline replies in an
aggrieved tone. And when Willis herself comes in, auguring no good from
this visit, my aunt gives her the tips of her fingers. And I imagine I
see a spark fly between them.