“Grandfather is getting where a little extra warmth on a blustering winter’s day is essential to his comfort,” Richard declared, feeling a curious necessity, somehow, to justify the use of the expensive and commodious equipage in the eyes of the country gentleman who seemed to regard it so lightly.

“It’s very nice,” Mrs. Gray said quickly.  “I should hardly know I was outdoors at all.  And how smoothly it runs along over the streets.  The young man out there in front must be a very good driver, I should think.  He doesn’t seem to mind the car-tracks at all.”

“No, Rogers doesn’t bother much about car-tracks,” Richard agreed gravely.  “His idea is to get home and to bed.”

“It is pretty late—­and I’m afraid waiting for us has made you a good deal later than you would have been,” said Mrs. Gray regretfully.

“Not a bit—­no, no.”

“We’ll go right to our room as soon as we get there,” said she, “and you mustn’t trouble to do a thing extra for us.”

“It’s going to be a great pleasure to have you under our roof,” the young man assured her, smiling.

Arrived at the great stone mansion which was the well-known residence of Matthew Kendrick, as it had been of his family for several generations, Richard stared up at it with a sense of strangeness.  Except for the halls and dining-room, his grandfather’s quarters and his own, he could not remember seeing it lighted as other homes were lighted, with rows of gleaming windows here and there, denoting occupancy by many people.  Now, one whole wing, where lay the special suite of guest-rooms used at long intervals for particularly distinguished persons, was brilliantly shining out upon the December night.

The car drew up beneath a massive covered entrance-porch, and a great door swung back.  A heavy-eyed, elderly butler admitted the party, which were ushered into an impressive but gloomy and inhospitable looking reception-room.  Matthew Kendrick glanced somewhat uncertainly at his nephew, who promptly took things in charge.

“I thought perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Gray would have some sandwiches and—­er—­something more—­with us, before they go to their rooms,” Richard suggested, nodding at Parks, the heavy-eyed.

“Yes, yes—­” agreed Mr. Kendrick, but Mrs. Rufus broke in upon him.

“Oh, no, Mr. Kendrick!” she cried softly, much distressed.  “Please don’t think of such a thing—­at this hour.  And we’ve just had refreshments at Eleanor’s.  Don’t let us keep you up a minute.  I’m sure you must be tired after this long evening.”

“Not at all, Madam.  Nor do you yourself look so,” responded Matthew Kendrick, in his somewhat stately manner.  “But you may be feeling like sleep, none the less.  If you prefer you shall go to your rest at once.”  He turned to his grandson again.  “Dick—­”

“I’ll take them up,” said that young man, eagerly.  He offered his arm to Aunt Ruth.

Uncle Rufus looked about him for the hand-bag which his wife had so hurriedly packed.  “We had a little grip—­” said he, uncertainly.