“Where are you, Joshua?” she said.  “This is the baby we brought from Nice.  Come and tell me whether you would recognize her.”

Mr. Holt released his—­daughter.  He had a mild blue eye, white mutton-chop whiskers, and very thin hands, and his tweed suit was decidedly the worse for wear.

“I can’t say that I should, Elvira,” he replied; “although it is not hard to believe that such a beautiful baby should, prove to be such a—­er —­good-looking young woman.”

“I’ve always felt very grateful to you for bringing me back,” said Honora.

“Tut, tut, child,” said Mrs. Holt; “there was no one else to do it.  And be careful how you pay young women compliments, Joshua.  They grow vain enough.  By the way, my dear, what ever became of your maternal grandfather, old Mr. Allison—­wasn’t that his name?”

“He died when I was very young,” replied Honora.

“He was too fond of the good things of this life,” said Mrs. Holt.

“My dear Elvira!” her husband protested.

“I can’t help it, he was,” retorted that lady.  “I am a judge of human nature, and I was relieved, I can tell you, my dear” (to Honora), “when I saw your uncle and aunt on the wharf that morning.  I knew that I had confided you to good hands.”

“They have done everything for me, Mrs. Holt,” said Honora.

The good lady patted her approvingly on the shoulder.

“I’m sure of it, my dear,” she said.  “And I am glad to see you appreciate it.  And now you must renew your acquaintance with the family.”

A sister and a brother, Honora had already learned from Susan, had died since she had crossed the ocean with them.  Robert and Joshua, Junior, remained.  Both were heavyset, with rather stern faces, both had close-cropped, tan-coloured mustaches and wide jaws, with blue eyes like Susan’s.  Both were, with women at least, what the French would call difficult—­Robert less so than Joshua.  They greeted Honora reservedly and—­she could not help feeling—­a little suspiciously.  And their appearance was something of a shock to her; they did not, somehow, “go with the house,” and they dressed even more carelessly than Peter Erwin.  This was particularly true of Joshua, whose low, turned-down collar revealed a porous, brick-red, and extremely virile neck, and whose clothes were creased at the knees and across the back.

As for their wives, Mrs. Joshua was a merry, brown-eyed little lady already inclining to stoutness, and Honora felt at home with her at once.  Mrs. Robert was tall and thin, with an olive face and dark eyes which gave the impression of an uncomfortable penetration.  She was dressed simply in a shirtwaist and a dark skirt, but Honora thought her striking looking.

The grandchildren, playing on and off the porch, seemed legion, and they were besieging Susan.  In reality there were seven of them, of all sizes and sexes, from the third Joshua with a tennis-bat to the youngest who was weeping at being sent to bed, and holding on to her Aunt Susan with desperation.  When Honora had greeted them all, and kissed some of them, she was informed that there were two more upstairs, safely tucked away in cribs.