ove up to the door of the Manor. Some had
travelled by train, some by motor, and each guest in turn was received
by the hostess, welcomed with her inimitable charm, and escorted to the
rooms apportioned to them, where tea was served instead of in the hall
downstairs, as was the usual custom in the household. It did not
satisfy Mrs Ingram's dramatic sense that her guests should meet one by
one; she preferred to postpone the moment until they met _en masse_
round the dinner table later on.

Six invitations had been sent out, and in due time six replies came
back. Some were affectionate in tone, others politely formal, some
implied a willingness to stay as long as they should be asked; others
regretted that one day only could be spared; but so far as the
anniversary itself was concerned, each of the six notes brought the
acceptance which Mrs Ingram had so confidently expected. By six
o'clock that evening six of the surviving members of the original party
were once more gathered together beneath the roof of the Manor.

It was just eight o'clock when the sound of the gong pealed through the
house, and Mr and Mrs Ingram took their stand in the great hall, to
watch the procession of their guests down the stairway.

First of all came a tall man, muscular and healthy, a typical country
squire, the sunburn of his skin showing in marked contrast to his white
shirt and waistcoat. A handsome man, with an air of agreeable content,
and beside him a stout matron, her large face wreathed in smiles, her
dress a handsome creation of the year before last.

Behind her, creeping close to the wall, a plain, insignificant woman
trailed a robe of magnificent gold brocade, while the glitter of
diamonds on neck and head lent an additional wanness to the pinched
face. This was the Lady Anne Malham, and by her side walked the husband
whose success in life had made him a world-known figure. The large
head, and hawk-like features had been so often represented in the Press
that the public recognised him at a glance, but few of those who studied
the weary face realised that this was a man who had not yet seen his
forty-fifth year. There was no lingering trace of youth on the face of
John Malham, millionaire!

Behind the Malhams came yet another couple: the woman's left hand rested
lightly on the banister, while on the inner side of the stairway, her
husband slipped his arm through hers, as though to afford a double
security to her descent.