to get into touch with; all she knew of him was his exterior, and that, for her, was no guide to the man beneath.  Then he had dropped out of her life, and for five and twenty years she had never heard of him.  Whatever chance she may have had was gone, and gone for ever.  Did she regret it, now that she was able to look back upon the past so calmly?  She thought not.  And yet, as she meditated on those far-off days when she was young and pretty, the intervening years seemed to be annihilated, and she felt herself once more a girl of twenty-two, with a young man hovering around her, always on the verge of a proposal that she herself staved off.

She was not agitated, but she was very curious to see what he would look like, and just a little anxious lest there should be any awkwardness about their meeting.  But eventually it came about in the most natural manner in the world, and if anybody had peeped into the shady drawing-room just at the time when Austin’s train was steaming into the station, there would certainly have been nothing in the scene to suggest any tragedy or romance whatever.  Aunt Charlotte, in a pretty white lace fichu set off with rose-coloured bows, was dispensing tea with hospitable smiles, while Martha handed cakes and poured a fresh supply of hot water into the teapot.  Opposite, sat the long expected visitor; no lean, brown adventurer, no Indian nabob, and certainly no artist, but a tallish, large-featured, and somewhat portly gentleman, with a ruddy complexion, good teeth, and a general air of prosperity.  His fashionable pale-grey frock-coat, evidently the work of a good tailor, fitted him like a glove; he wore, also, a white waistcoat, a gold eye-glass, and patent leather shoes.  His appearance, in short, was that of a thoroughly well-groomed, though slightly over-dressed, London man; and he impressed both Martha and Aunt Charlotte with being a very fine gentleman indeed, for his manners were simply perfect, if perhaps a little studied.  He dropped his gloves into his hat with a graceful gesture as he accepted a cup of tea, and then, turning to his hostess, said——­

“It is indeed delightful to meet you after all these years; it seems to bring back old times so vividly.  And the years have dealt very gently with you, my dear friend.  I should have known you anywhere.”

It was not quite certain to Aunt Charlotte whether she could truthfully have returned the compliment.  There are some elderly people in whom it is the easiest thing in the world to recognise the features of their youth.  Allow for a little accentuation of facial lines, a little roughening of the skin, a little modification in the arrangement of the hair, and the face is virtually the same.  Aunt Charlotte herself was one of these, but Granville Ogilvie was not.  She might even have passed him in the street.  That he was the man she had known was beyond question, but there was a puffiness under the eyes and a fulness about the cheeks that altered the general effect of his appearance, and in spite of his modish dress and elaborate manners he seemed to have grown just a little coarse.  Still, remembering what a bird of passage he had been, and the many experiences he must have had by land and sea, all that was not to be wondered at.  It was really remarkable, everything considered, that he had managed to preserve himself so well.