was a square stone house, covered with creepers, a white rose clustering
over the doorway and a group of trees over-topping its chimneys.

Inside, where the housekeeper welcomed them and tea waited for them, was
the same homely brightness. Hunting prints hung in the hall; rows of
mediocre, though pleasing, family portraits in the dining-room. The long
drawing-room at the back of the house, overlooking the lawns and a far
prospect, was a much inhabited room, cheerful and shabby. There were
old-fashioned water-colour landscapes, porcelain in cabinets and on
shelves, and many tables crowded with ivory and silver bric-a-brac;
things from India and things from China, that Digbys in the Army and
Digbys in the Navy had brought home.

'What a Philistine room it is,' said Gerald, smiling as he looked around
him; 'but I must say I like it just as it is. It has never made an
aesthetic effort.'

Gerald's smile irradiated the whole house for Althea, and lit up, in
especial, the big, sunny school-room where he and Helen found most
memories of all. 'The same old table, Helen,' he said, 'and other
children have spilled ink on it and scratched their initials just as we
used to; here are yours and mine. Do you remember the day we did them
under Fraeulein's very nose? And here are all our old books, too. Look,
Helen, the Roman history with your wicked drawings on the fly-leaves:
Tullia driving over her poor old father, and Cornelia--ironic little
wretch you were even then--what a prig she is with her jewels! And what
splendid butter-scotch you used to make over the fire on winter
evenings.'

Helen remembered everything, smiling as she followed Gerald about the
room and looked at ruthless Tullia; and Althea, watching them, was
touched--for them, and then, with a little counter-stroke of memory, for
herself. She remembered her old home too--the dignified old house in
steep Chestnut Street, and the little house on the blue Massachusetts
coast where she had often passed long days playing by herself, for she
had been an only child. She loved it here, for it was like a home,
peaceful and sheltering; but where in all the world had she really a
home? Where in all the world did she belong? The thought brought tears
to her eyes as she looked out of the schoolroom window and listened to
Gerald and Helen. It had ended, of course, for of course it had really
begun, in Althea's decision to take Merriston House. It was quite fixed
now, and on the