er run up at once and
make ready. Cannie, you and I will go to the library,--you haven't seen
my husband yet."

The library was a big, airy room, with an outlook to the sea. There were
not many books in it, only enough to fill a single low range of
book-shelves; but the tables were covered with freshly cut magazines and
pamphlet novels; there was a great file of "Punch" and other illustrated
papers, and that air of light-reading-in-abundance which seems to suit a
house in summer-time. A little wood-fire was snapping on a pair of very
bright andirons, and, June though it was, its warmth was agreeable.
Beside it, in an enormous Russia-leather armchair, sat Mr. Gray,--an
iron-whiskered, shrewd-looking man of the world, with a pair of
pleasant, kindly eyes, and that shining bald spot on his head which
seems characteristic of the modern business man.

"Court, here is our new child," said Mrs. Gray; "poor Candace's
daughter, you know."

Mr. Gray understood, from his wife's tone, that she was pleased with her
little visitor so far, and he greeted her in a very friendly fashion.

"You have your mother's eyes," he said. "I recollect her perfectly,
though we only met two or three times, and that was seventeen--let me
see--nearly eighteen years ago it must have been. Her hair, too, I
should say," glancing at Cannie's chestnut mop; "it was very thick, I
remember, and curled naturally."

"Aunt Myra always says that my hair is the same color as mother's,"
replied Candace.

"It is almost exactly the same. Do you remember her at all, Cannie?"
asked Mrs. Gray.

"Just a little. I recollect things she used to wear, and where she used
to sit, and one or two things she said. But perhaps I don't recollect
them, but think I do because Aunt Myra told them to me."

"Is there no picture of her?"

"Only a tin-type, and it isn't very good. It's almost faded out; you
can hardly see the face."

"What a pity!"

"Le diner est servi, Madame," said the voice of Frederic at the door.

"We won't wait for the girls. They will be down in a moment," said Mrs.
Gray, as she led the way to the dining-room. The sound of their feet on
the staircase was heard as she spoke; and down they ran, the elder two
in pretty dresses of thin white woollen stuff, which Candace in her
unworldliness thought fine enough for a party.

People in North Tolland did not dine in the modern sense of the word.
They took in supplies of food at stated intervals, very much