gh open to the view of it) there was a
similar suite of rooms which I thought might be my husband's, but I was
told they were kept for a guest.

Being left alone I had taken off my outer things and was standing on my
balcony, listening to the dull hum of the water in the glen, the rustle
of the trees above it, the surge of the sea on the rocks below, the
creaking of a rusty weathercock and the striking of a court-yard clock,
when I also heard the toot and throb of another motor-car, and as soon
as it came up I saw that it contained Aunt Bridget in the half-moon
bonnet and Betsy Beauty, who was looking more than ever like a country
belle.

When I went down to the drawing-room Lady Margaret was pouring out tea
for them, and at sight of me Aunt Bridget cried,

"Sakes alive, here she is herself!"

"But how pale and pinched and thin!" said Betsy Beauty.

"Nonsense, girl, that's only natural," said my Aunt Bridget, with
something like a wink; and then she went on to say that she had just
been telling her ladyship that if I felt lonely and a little helpless on
first coming home Betsy would be pleased to visit me.

Before I could reply my husband came in, followed shortly by Alma, who
was presented as before, as "Mary's old school-fellow"; and then, while
Betsy talked to Alma and my husband to his kinswoman, Aunt Bridget, in
an undertone, addressed herself to me.

"You're that way, aren't you? . . . No? Goodness me, girl, your father
_will_ be disappointed!"

Just then a third motor-car came throbbing up to the house, and Betsy
who was standing by the window cried:

"It's Uncle Daniel with Mr. Curphy and Nessy."

"Nessy, of course," said Aunt Bridget grumpily, and then she told me in
a confidential whisper that she was a much-injured woman in regard to
"that ungrateful step-daughter," who was making her understand the words
of Scripture about the pang that was sharper than a serpent's tooth.

As the new-comers entered I saw that Nessy had developed an old maid's
idea of smartness, and that my father's lawyer was more than ever like
an over-fatted fish; but my father himself (except that his hair was
whiter) was the same man still, with the same heavy step, the same loud
voice and the same tempestuous gaiety.

"All here? Good! Glad to be home, I guess! Strong and well and hearty, I
suppose? . . . Yes, sir, yes! I'm middling myself, sir. Middling, sir,
middling!"

During these rugged salutations I saw that Alma, w