So Mrs. Beltrán went down alone to find Aunt Manning fiercely demanding why the young man had not brought his bag. "But I am supposed to be staying at The Beeches," he argued.
"Nothing of the kind, nothing of the kind," retorted Aunt Manning. "They have a houseful as it is and we haven't a single Christmas guest. Ernest Kirkby had to monopolize my nephew, Joseph, and cheated us out of his visit, and here you are backing out."
"But, my dear Mrs. Manning," replied the young man, "I didn't understand that you expected me to take up my headquarters here."
"Then the sooner you understand the better. Is anything the matter with this house that everyone wants to shun it?"
"My dear Mrs. Manning——" The young man tried to conciliate her. He had heard enough of her bristling manner from others not to be able to set a true value upon its unimportance.
Just here, however, Mrs. Beltrán appeared and Mrs. Manning went off to the telephone, to "have it out," as she expressed it, with Mrs. Teaness. In a few minutes she came back quite mollified. "It is quite right," she announced. "She understands. I will send Timpkins over for your bag and you will stay just where you are."
This, however, Terrence would not listen to, as he declared he must make his excuses in person and went off in spite of protests, promising to return in the afternoon.
Therefore, although the edge of her expectations was taken off a trifle, Anita was able to adhere to her decision of seeing her true love alone. Lillian managed to follow out her scheme of getting her grandmother into the greenhouse at the critical moment, and Anita, arrayed in the blue frock of precious memory, went down with beating heart into the drawing room where Tibbie had ushered the guest.
He was standing in front of the grate fire, his head thoughtfully bent when Anita reached the doorway. She stood a moment upon the threshold, her heart beating so furiously that she could not trust herself to speak. He was there, the same familiar form, the same beloved features. He looked older, paler, more thoughtful and grave. She dropped the curtain behind her and made a step forward. He looked up. An expression of wonder came over his face. He passed his hand over his eyes as if trying to brush away some illusion. Anita advanced a step or two but felt powerless to utter a word. Terrence looked at her fixedly from the crown of her dark head to her slippered feet. "Nancy," he breathed. "The same eyes, the same mouth, even the same blue dress. My Nancy. The Nancy that was once mine."
Anita moved swiftly forward holding out both hands and finding speech at last. "Terrence, Terrence," she cried, joyously. "It is your Nancy still; always your Nancy during all this time. Oh, Terrence, I was so silly ever to let you go."