When Howard found an opportunity of scrutinising his aunt, which he did as she poured out tea, he saw a very charming old lady, who was not exactly handsome, but was fresh-coloured and silvery-haired, and had a look of the most entire tranquillity and self-possession.  She looked as if she had met and faced trouble at some bygone time; there were traces of sorrow about the brow and eyes, but it was a face which seemed as if self had somehow passed out of it, and was yet strong with a peculiar kind of fearless strength.  She had a lazy and contented sort of laugh, and yet gave an impression of energy, and of a very real and vivid life.  Her eyes had a great softness and brilliancy, and Howard liked to feel them dwelling upon him.  As they sat at tea she suddenly put her hand on his and said, “My dear boy, how you remind me of your mother!  I suppose you hardly even remember her as a young woman; but though you are half hidden in that beard of yours, you are somehow just like her, and I feel as if I were in the schoolroom again at Hunsdon in the old days.  No, I am not sentimental.  I don’t want it back again, and I don’t hate the death that parts us.  One can’t go back, one must go forward—­and, after all, hearts were made to love with, and not to break!”

They spent a quiet evening in the still house.  Mrs. Graves said to Howard, “I know that men always want to go and do something mysterious after tea; but to-night you must just sit here and get used to me.  You needn’t be afraid of having to see too much of me.  I don’t appear before luncheon, and Jane looks after me; and you must get some exercise in the afternoons.  I don’t go further than the village.  I expect you have lectures to write; and you must do exactly what you like.”  They sat there, in the low panelled room, and talked easily about old recollections.  They dined in simple state in the big hall with its little gallery, at a round table in the centre, lighted by candles.  The food was simple, the wine was good.

“Marengo chicken,” said Mrs. Graves as a dish was handed round.  “That’s one of Jane’s historical allusions.  If you don’t know why it is called Marengo, Jane will rejoice to enlighten you.”  After the meal she begged him to smoke.  “I like it,” said Mrs. Graves; “I have even smoked myself in seclusion, but now I dare not—­it would be all over the parish to-morrow.”

After dinner they went back to the drawing-room, and Miss Merry turned out to be quite a good pianist, playing some soft old music at the end of the gently lighted room.  Mrs. Graves went off early.  “You had better stop and smoke here,” she said to Howard.  “There’s a library where you can work and smoke to-morrow; and now good night, and let me say how I delight to have you here—­I really can’t say how much!”