he
sphere of her golden prosperity. Also, incidentally, to warm herself in
the light of faithful and familiar eyes. Since her final dismissal of
Claud Dalzell--although she was satisfied with that act, and ready to
repeat it again, if necessary--she had been conscious of a personal
loneliness, not sensibly mitigated by her crowd-attracting wealth.
"Someone of my own" was the want of her warm heart.

And Rose, with no petty grudge for past short-comings, answered that
need with open arms. Never was hostess more cordial to honoured guest.
Peter also was at home. He had been to town and back again, and now
stood upon his spotless doorstep, and anon upon his handsome
drawing-room hearthrug, determined that his house should lack nothing
befitting the great occasion. It was all in gala dress--newly-arranged
flowers, festive lunch-table, the best foot foremost; and yet, whereas
there was no hiding the self-seeker in the ingratiating Bennet
Goldsworthy, there was no finding him in this proud host and husband,
whose desire was only to do his dear wife credit.

Neither of them said, in word or manner, "Why didn't you come like this
before?" Deb knew that her welcome would have been the same, and had
hard work not to show too frankly her sense of their magnanimity. As it
was, she nearly kissed Peter in the hall--such a nice, warm,
comfortable, hospitable entrance to as comfortable a home (in its
undeniably middle-class style) as she had ever been inside of--the more
striking in its effect by contrast with Mary's. Peter's cuffs were like
the driven snow; he was charmingly fresh and clean, well barbered and
well tailored; grown quite handsome, too, now that he had filled out
and matured. As for Rose--"I hear," Frances wrote from Paris, "that
poor Rose has become a perfect tub." Mrs Peter was almost as broad as
she was long. But what health in the sunny face! What opulent
well-being in the full curves of her figure, gowned in a fashion to
satisfy even Deb's exigent taste.

They did not tell her it was good of her to come to see them, but they
told her in all the languages of courtesy that they were mighty glad
she had come. She was taken into the drawing-room--full of soft chairs
and sofas that anybody might sit on, and with a fire of clear coals in
a grate that glittered with constant polishing. But everything in
Peter's establishment seemed to shine with pure cleanliness; he took
after his mother, who, modest in other things, wa