"Make haste, darling," she called, "and remember you are to take in Lady Bawe."
"Why, is there a dinner party?" He blinked at her dreamily; his scanty hair was ruffled, he looked tried, over-strained. That afternoon he had been engaged on a stupendous operation, and the reaction of success was still upon him.
"Yes, yes, I told you! Go along quickly and dress."
"You look wonderful," he said, smiling at her.
She knew he was proud of her, that he grudged her nothing in the world, that the money he made gave him pleasure principally for her sake, yet sometimes he provoked her almost past bearing, his forgetfulness, his blindness to the value of her social triumphs that were undoubtedly an indirect asset to him in his calling. His calling came first with him, she came second; and there were no children, nothing to fill her life beyond the eternal round of engagements and social successes, which during the last ten years had become a sort of second nature to her. Now she looked forward to match-making on her brother's behalf.
The front door bell rang. "There!" She waved her husband up the stairs. "Don't be longer than you can help, and whatever you do, remember Lady Bawe."
"Lady Bawe," he repeated, and quickened his steps obediently.
Presently Sir Philip and Lady Flint, and Mr. Flint, were announced.
"Well, mother—well, father." Grace kissed her parents, then turned to embrace her brother. "Philip," she cried, "how you have altered! Is it really you?"
She could hardly believe that this sun-baked, middle-aged man, growing rather bald, with the set face and grave eyes, was Philip. Her remembrance of him last time he was on furlough was so different. Then he had looked almost boyish, full of spirits, enjoying every moment of his leave, yet enthusiastic over his prospects when he should return to his work. Now he looked as if nothing would ever arouse his enthusiasm or high spirits again. He even showed little pleasure at seeing her, and they had been such pals in the old days! Grace supposed it was the want of rest and change that ailed him. He ought to have come home two years ago, after all his hard work over the famine, instead of being tempted to stay on in a responsible position that, whatever it might lead to, could hardly be worth the sacrifice of health. She thought he looked far from well as she drew him aside and whispered: