Still she could not finish, so painfully did the familiar voices, the unchanged furniture, recall both her happy childhood and the bridal days when she had last entered the house, that it seemed as it were a new thing, a fresh shock to miss the tone that was never to be heard there again.  Why should all around be the same, when all within was altered?  But it had been only the first few moments that had overwhelmed her, and the sound of Mrs. Langford’s returning footsteps recalled her habit of self-control; she thanked her, held out her quivering hand, drank the sal-volatile, pronounced herself much better, and asked pardon for having given so much trouble.

“Trouble? my dear child, no such thing!  I only wish I could see you better.  No doubt it is too much for you, this coming home the first time; but then you know poor Fred is gone to a better—­Ah! well, I see you can’t bear to speak of him, and perhaps after all quiet is the best thing.  Don’t let your mamma think of dressing and coming down, my dear.”

There was a little combat on this point, but it ended in Mrs. Frederick Langford yielding, and agreeing to remain upstairs.  Grandmamma would have waited to propose to her each of the dishes that were to appear at table, and hear which she thought would suit her taste; but very fortunately, as Henrietta thought, a bell rang at that moment, which she pronounced to be “the half-hour bell,” and she hastened away, telling her granddaughter that dinner would be ready at half-past five, and calling the maid outside the door to giver her full directions where to procure anything that her mistress might want.

“Dear grandmamma! just like herself!” said Mrs. Frederick Langford.  “But Henrietta, my dear,” she added with some alarm, “make haste and dress:  you must never be too late in this house!”

Henrietta was not much accustomed to dress to a moment, and she was too anxious about her mamma to make speed with her whole will, and her hair was in no state of forwardness when the dinner-bell rang, causing her mamma to start and hasten her with an eager, almost alarmed manner.  “You don’t know how your grandmamma dislikes being kept waiting,” said she.

At last she was ready, and running down, found all the rest assembled, evidently waiting for her.  Frederick, looking anxious, met her at the door to receive her assurances that their mother was better; the rest inquired, and her apologies were cut short by grandmamma calling them to eat her turkey before it grew cold.  The spirits of all the party were perhaps damped by Mrs. Frederick Langford’s absence and its cause, for the dinner was not a very lively one, nor the conversation very amusing to Henrietta and Frederick, as it was chiefly on the news of the country neighbourhood, in which Uncle Geoffrey showed much interest.

As soon as she was released from the dining-room, Henrietta ran up to her mamma, whom she found refreshed and composed.  “But, O mamma, is this a good thing for you?” said Henrietta, looking at the red case containing her father’s miniature, which had evidently been only just closed on her entrance.