‘Shall I get your dress, miss?’

’I can’t dress to-night, I am too tired.  There, that will do.  Now I will go downstairs.’

She did so, and found her father alone in the library.

‘I won’t cry,’ again she said, as she kissed him affectionately.

’Thank you for coming, Freda, it will do me good, and my wife is delighted.  Harold, too, is in ecstasies, and only went to bed with a promise that sister Freda—­he calls you sister, you know, and—­and all that sort of thing.’

The ‘my wife,’ grated strangely on Freda’s ear, but she promised to go and see her little brother.

Lady Mary came in, and they went to dinner.

It seemed strange to see her at the head of the table, and Freda felt as if she were in a dream.  But nothing could be more perfect than her ladyship’s manner.  She behaved as if nothing had ever happened to cause the least estrangement between them, and almost as if she were still Lady Mary Nugent.  Handsome as ever, and perfectly well-bred, she almost made even Freda believe, after her long absence from her, that she really was what she seemed.  However, Freda tried to take her as she was, and to feel thankful that she was no worse.  It was she who principally kept up the conversation; Freda made great efforts, and signally failed, and Mr Gwynne never talked much.

After dinner, Freda proposed to go and see the little brother.  As she looked at the magnificent boy who lay peacefully sleeping in his little crib, she was thankful to be able to kiss him, and say, ’God bless you, my brother,’ without feeling angered that he had deprived her of the inheritance she had once been so proud of.  She knew that Lady Mary was watching her narrowly, but there was no hypocrisy in her affection, so she did not care.

They went down to the library, where were Mr Gwynne, tea and coffee.

‘Is he not a splendid fellow, my dear?’ said Mr Gwynne.

‘He certainly is, papa,’ replied Freda, aloud, saying inwardly, ’and everything with you now.  I am quite second—­third I ought to say.’

This was true; Mr Gwynne was proud of his wife and son.  The former took care of him, and did not greatly interfere with his pursuits or peculiarities, the latter gave him new life and hopes.  An heir in his old age was a gift that might well exceed that of the daughter who could not perpetuate his name.

Freda was glad when she went to bed, which she did as soon as tea was over.  It was a great relief to sit down once more in the easy-chair which had helped to nurse so many crude fancies and humours in days gone by, and think over the past and present.  There was an atmosphere of unreality about everything at Glanyravon, that she hoped to clear off on the morrow, so she resolved to try not to feel depressed under its influence; but having once known what it was to enjoy living with real, working men and women, with aims beyond the formalities of society, it seemed hard to be thrown back upon the cold worldliness of her stepmother, and the selfish nervousness of her father.