Three huge, rough-coated hounds lay on the lion-skin before the fire.  They rose, haughtily, to greet me.

“Ulfus, Belfus, and Bedevere, come and be introduced to a fair lady,” said Antony.  “You can be quite civil, she is of the family.”

The dogs came forward.

“What darlings!” I said, patted them all.  They received the caresses with dignity, and, without gush, made me understand they were glad to see me.

Then we said some banal things to each other—­Antony and I—­about the fog and the difficulty of getting here and the length of the drive.

I did not look at him much.  I felt excited and awkward—­and happy.

“I am not going to let you stay here a minute in those damp things,” he said.  “I shall give you into the hands of Mrs. Harrison, my housekeeper, to take you to your room.  When you have got into a tea-gown, you will find me here again.”  And he rang the bell.

Grandmamma would have approved of Mrs. Harrison when she appeared.  She is like the housekeepers one reads of in books—­stately and plump, and clothed in black silk, with a fat, gold-and-cameo brooch fastening a neat cambric collar.

She conducted me up the staircase and into the most exquisite bedroom I have ever dreamed of in my life.

It is white, and panelled, and full of really old and beautiful French furniture.  Everything is in keeping, even to the locks on the doors and the bell-ropes.  How grandmamma would have appreciated this!  And the fineness of the linen, and the softness of the pillows and sofa-cushions!  And everywhere great bowls of roses—­my favorite flower.  Roses in November!

“Oh, what a lovely room!” I exclaimed, as I went round and looked at everything.

“It is pretty, ma’am.  It has only just been arranged,” said Mrs. Harrison, much gratified.  “Sir Antony bid me ask you to order anything you can possibly want.”

Then she indicated which bell rang into my maid’s room and which for the house-maids, and with a few more polite wishes for my comfort, and the information that the room prepared for Augustus was some way down the corridor, on the right, she left me in McGreggor’s hands.

With great promptness the luggage had been carried up, so I was not long getting into a tea-gown.

Augustus and Lady Grenellen would have arrived by the time I got down to the hall again.  They ought to have been here before me, but no doubt the train was late.

The soft crepe de chine of my skirts made no frou-frou.  Antony did not see me as I looked over the bend of the stairs descending; he was staring into the fire, an expression I have never seen before on his face.

I stopped.  Presently he looked up.

“How silently you came, Comtesse!  I did not hear you.”

“You were thinking deeply.  Upon what grave matters of state?”

“None at all.  Do you know Lady Grenellen and your husband have not arrived?  The brougham has with difficulty returned from the station after waiting until the train was in, and there was no sign of them.”