Honora, secretly, was of that opinion too as she surveyed herself in the long glass.  The simple summer silk, of a deep and glowing pink, rivalled the colour in her cheeks, and contrasted with the dark and shining masses of her hair; and on her neck glistened a little pendant of her mother’s jewels, which Aunt Mary, with Cousin Eleanor’s assistance, had had set in New York.  Honora’s figure was that of a woman of five and twenty:  her neck was a slender column, her head well set, and the look of race, which had been hers since childhood, was at nineteen more accentuated.  All this she saw, and went down the stairs in a kind of exultation.  And when on the threshold of the drawing-room she paused, the conversation suddenly ceased.  Mr. Holt and his sons got up somewhat precipitately, and Mrs. Holt came forward to meet her.

“I hope you weren’t waiting for me,” said Honora, timidly.

“No indeed, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt.  Tucking Honora’s hand under her arm, she led the way majestically to the dining-room, a large apartment with a dimly lighted conservatory at the farther end, presided over by the decorous butler and his assistants.  A huge chandelier with prisms hung over the flowers at the centre of the table, which sparkled with glass and silver, while dishes of vermilion and yellow fruits relieved the whiteness of the cloth.  Honora found herself beside Mr. Holt, who looked more shrivelled than ever in his evening clothes.  And she was about to address him when, with a movement as though to forestall her, he leaned forward convulsively and began a mumbling grace.

The dinner itself was more like a ceremony than a meal, and as it proceeded, Honora found it increasingly difficult to rid herself of a curious feeling of being on probation.

Joshua, who sat on her other side and ate prodigiously, scarcely addressed a word to her; but she gathered from his remarks to his father and brother that he was interested in cows.  And Mr. Holt was almost exclusively occupied in slowly masticating the special dishes which the butler impressively laid before him.  He asked her a few questions about Miss Turner’s school, but it was not until she had admired the mass of peonies in the centre of the table that his eyes brightened, and he smiled.

“You like flowers?” he asked.

“I love them,” slid Honora.

“I am the gardener here,” he said.  “You must see my garden, Miss Leffingwell.  I am in it by half-past six every morning, rain or shine.”

Honora looked up, and surprised Mrs. Robert’s eyes fixed on her with the same strange expression she had noticed on her arrival.  And for some senseless reason, she flushed.

The conversation was chiefly carried on by kindly little Mrs. Joshua and by Mrs. Holt, who seemed at once to preside and to dominate.  She praised Honora’s gown, but left a lingering impression that she thought her overdressed, without definitely saying so.  And she made innumerable—­and often embarrassing—­inquiries about Honora’s aunt and uncle, and her life in St. Louis, and her friends there, and how she had happened to go to Sutcliffe to school.  Sometimes Honora blushed, but she answered them all good-naturedly.  And when at length the meal had marched sedately down to the fruit, Mrs. Holt rose and drew Honora out of the dining room.