"A reparation," he answered shortly, as he moved to his chair. And
his tone made any further comment impossible. She sat down
thoughtfully and began her soup in silence, vaguely disturbed at
the departure from a precedent that had held for generations.
Unconventional and ultra-modern as she was she still clung to the
traditions of her family, and from time immemorial the portrait of
the last reigning Craven had hung over the fireplace in the big
dining room waiting to give place to its successor. It all seemed
bound up somehow with the terrible change that had taken place in
him since his return from Japan--a change she was beginning more
and more to connect with the man whose portrait had been banished,
as though unworthy, from its prominence. Unworthy indeed--but how
did Barry know? What had he learned in the country that had had
such a fatal attraction for his father? The old shameful story she
had thought buried for ever seemed rising like a horrible phantom
from the grave where it had lain so long hidden.

With a little shudder she turned resolutely from the painful
thoughts that came crowding in upon her and entered into animated
conversation with Peters.

Gillian, content to be unnoticed, looked about her with
appreciative interest; the big room, its sombre, rather formal
furniture and fine pictures, appealed to her. The arrangements
were in perfect harmony, nothing clashed or jarred, electric
lighting was carefully hidden and only wax candles burnt in heavy
silver candlesticks on the table.

The fascination of the old house was growing every moment more