,' said the servant, 'Mr.
Egremont.'

'I will see him.'

He came quickly to her over the carpet, and they clasped hands. Then,
as he heard the door close, Walter kissed the hand he held, kissed it
twice with affection. They did not speak at first, but looked at each
other. Mrs. Ormonde's eyes shone.

'How strong and well you look!' were her first words. 'You bring a
breath from the Atlantic.'

'Rather from a pestilent English railroad car!'

'We say 'railway' and 'carriage,' Walter.'

'Ah! I confused a cabman at Liverpool by talking the 'depot.''

He laughed merrily, a stronger and deeper laugh than of old. Personally
he was not, however, much changed. He was still shaven, still stood in
the same attitude; his smile was still the same inscrutable movement of
the features. But his natural wiriness had become somewhat more
pronounced, and the sea-tan on his cheeks prepared one for a robuster
kind of speech from him than formerly.

'Of course you have not dined. Let me go away for one moment.'

'I thank you. Foreseeing this, I dined at the station.'

'Then you behaved with much unkindness. Stand with your face rather
more to the light. Yes, you are strong and well. I shall not say how
glad I am to see you; perhaps I should have done, if you had waited to
break bread under my roof.'

'I shall sit down if I may. This journey from Liverpool has tired me
much. Oh yes, I was glad as I came through the Midlands; it was poetry
again, even amid smoke and ashes.'

'But you must not deny your gods.'

'Ah, poetry of a different kind. From Whitman to Tennyson.

And one an English home; grey twilight poured--

No, I deny nothing; one's moods alter with the scene.'

'I find that Mr. Newthorpe has good words for your Whitman.'

'Of course he has. What man of literary judgment has not? He is here
still?'

'Not at present. They went a fortnight ago to Ullswater.'

'To stay there till winter, I suppose?'

'Or till late in autumn.'

Walter did not keep his seat, in spite of the fatigue he had spoken of.
In a minute or two he was moving about the room, glancing at a picture
or an ornament.

'That photograph is new, I think,' he said. 'A Raphael?'

'Andrea del Sarto.'

'Barbarian that I am! I should have known Lucrezia's face. And your
poor little girls? I was grieved to hear of the death of Bunce's child.
I always think of poor Bunce as a heavily-burdened man.'

'He came a month ago to see Bessie's grave. He t