When the party reached Seascape the summer clouds that floated over the ocean were beginning to glow with the warmth of coming sunset.  The sea lay so tranquil that the flash of the waves on the pebbly shore sounded like the rythmic accompaniment to the beautiful vision of earth and sky, and the boom of the water against the cliffs beyond came now and then, accentuating this like the beat of a heavy drum muffled or distant.  The mansion at Seascape with its forty rooms, although new, was so substantial and stately that as they drove up the avenue Lady Dacre, accustomed to grandeur, ran her quick eye over its ample dimensions, its gambrel roof, its immense chimneys, its generous hall door, and turning to Archdale, without her condescension, she asked him how he had contrived to combine newness and dignity.

“One sees it in nature sometimes,” he answered.  “Dignity and youth are a fascinating combination.”

In the hall stood a lady whom Archdale looked at with pride.  He was fond of his mother without recognizing a certain likeness between them.  She was dressed elegantly, although without ostentation, and she came towards her guests with an ease as delightful as their own.  Stephen going to meet her, led her forward and introduced her.  Lady Dacre looked at her scrutinizingly, and gave a little nod of satisfaction.

“I am pleased to come to see you Madam Archdale,” she said in answer to the other’s greeting.  There was a touch of sadness in her face and the clasp of her hand had a silent sympathy in it.  It was as if the two women already made moan over the desolation of the man in whom they both were interested, though in so different degrees.  But the tact of both saved awkwardness in their meeting.

Archdale stood a little apart, silent for a moment, struggling against the overwhelming suggestions of the situation.  Even his mother did not belong here; she had her own home.  Perhaps it would be found that no woman for whom he cared could ever have a right in this lovely house.  When these guests had gone he would shut up the place forever, unless——.  But possibilities of delight seemed very vague to Stephen as he stood there in his home unlighted by Katie’s presence.  All at once he felt a long keen ray from Sir Temple’s eyes upon his face.  That gentleman had a fondness for making out his own narratives of people and things; he preferred Mss. to print, that is, the Mss. of the histories he found written on the faces of those about him, which, although sometimes difficult to decipher, had the charm of novelty, and often that of not being decipherable by the multitude.  Stephen immediately turned his glance upon Sir Temple.

“You are tired,” he said with decision, “and Lady Dacre must be quite exhausted, animated as she looks.  But I see that my mother is already leading her away.  Let me show you your rooms.”

Sir Temple’s eyes had fallen, and with a bow and a half smile upon his lips, he walked beside his host in silence.