moment, Carrie was vaguely disturbed. She had seen
Montreal and London, but the buildings there were crowded with
occupants and this was one man's home. Jim, whose clothes she had
mended, belonged to people who built such houses. She glanced at him,
but his face was inscrutable until he seemed to feel her gaze and gave
her a smile. Carrie felt braced. In some ways, Jim had got strangely
English, but he was, for all that, the Jim she knew; and she studied
the house with a pleasant thrill, as if she were embarking on a new
adventure.

Dryholm was very large and modern, but it had dignity and glimmered in
the sunset between shadowy woods. The stone was creamy white, with
touches of soft pink and gray. Cornices and pillars broke the long,
straight front, and there were towers at the ends. Carrie knew nothing
about architecture, but she got a hint of strength and solidity.
Somehow, she felt relieved; Mordaunt and Mrs. Halliday would not have
built such a house. On the whole, she distrusted them, but it looked
as if the head of the family was different.

"It's very fine, Jim," she said. "There's something of Langrigg about
it; something you don't feel at Whitelees. The stone is curious."

"I believe it was brought from a distance, but, in a sense, Bernard
Dearham built Dryholm of iron."

"Somehow it looks like that," Carrie remarked.

The car stopped in front of a plain arch and Bernard received the party
in the hall, where they found Mrs. Halliday, Evelyn, Mordaunt, and some
others. Bernard gave Jim his hand and for a minute or two kept Mrs.
Winter and Carrie by him. When they went to dinner Mrs. Winter was put
next to Bernard, and Carrie, sitting near, looked about with frank
curiosity. The room was lofty and spacious. She had not seen such a
room except when she dined at a big Montreal hotel, but it had not the
lavish decoration she had noted there. At Dryholm, one got a sense of
space and calm; nothing glittered and forced itself on one's glance.
Carrie thought it was somehow like a church, but rather the big quiet
cathedral than the ornate Notre Dame. She had only seen big churches
in Montreal.

The west window commanded distant hills that rose, colored dark-blue,
against the yellow sky. Shining water touched their feet and one could
hear the sea. It was getting dark, however, and soon electric lights
began to glow on the paneled ceiling and along the deep cornice. The
lamps were placed among t