y man, who looked as if the Indian sun had partially
frizzled him. He received her kindly, but with a sort of ceremonious
stiffness which made her feel less perfectly at her east than before,
and after the usual remarks about the length of the journey, and the
beauty of the weather, he relapsed into silence, surveying every one
from his arm chair as though he were passing mental judgments on every
foolish or trifling remark uttered. In reality, he was taking in every
particular about Erica. He looked at her broad forehead, overshadowed by
the thick smooth waves of short auburn hair, observed her golden-brown
eyes which were just now as clear as amber; noted the creamy whiteness
and delicate coloring of her complexion, which indeed defied criticism
even the criticism of such a critical man as Mr. Fane-Smith. The nose
was perhaps a trifle too long, the chin too prominent, for ideal beauty,
but greater regularity of feature could but have rendered less quaint,
less powerful, and less attractive the strangely winsome face. It was
only the mouth which he did not feel satisfied with it added character
to the face, but he somehow felt that it betokened a nature not easily
led, not so gentle and pliable as he could have wished. It shut so very
firmly and the under lip was a little thinner and straighter than the
other and receded a little from it, giving the impression that Erica had
borne much suffering, and had exercised great self-restraint.

Mrs. Fane-Smith saw in her a sort of miniature and feminine edition of
the Luke Raeburn whom she remembered eight-and-twenty years before in
their Scottish home. When Rose had gone into the back drawing room to
fetch her crewels, she drew Erica toward her, and kissing her again,
said in a low, almost frightened voice:

"You are very like what your father was."

But just at that moment Mr. Fane-Smith asked some sudden question, and
his wife, starting and coloring, as though she had been detected in
wrong-doing, hurriedly and nervously devoted herself to what seemed
to Erica a distractingly round-about answer. By the time it was fairly
ended, dinner was announced, and the strangeness of the atmosphere of
this new home struck more and more upon Erica and chilled her a little.
The massive grandeur of the old oak furniture, the huge oil paintings,
which she wanted really to study, the great silver candelabra, even the
two footmen and the solemn old butler seemed to oppress her. The luxury