Yes, Mrs. Falkner was at home. He was ushered into the drawing room, which was empty. There was the same ever-clinging scent of roses, the same knick-knacks, the same lounge on which they had sat together that night. Even the battery stamps across the kloof seemed to hammer out the same refrain.
The door opened. Was it Lilith herself? No, only Lilith's aunt.
"Why, Mr. Stanninghame, I am glad to see you. But—how you have changed!"
"Well, yes, Mrs. Falkner. Time has knocked me about some. I can't say the same as regards yourself, though. You haven't changed an atom."
She laughed. "That can't be true. I'm sure I feel more and more of an old woman every day. But sit down, do, and tell me about your adventures. Have you had a successful trip?"
"Pretty well. It has proved a more paying concern, at any rate, than the exhilarating occupation known as 'waiting for the boom.'"
"I am very glad to hear that. And your friends—have you all returned safe and sound?"
Laurence replied that they had. But for all his outward equability, his impatience was amounting to torment. Even while he talked his ears were strained to catch the sound of a light step without. How would Lilith look? he wondered. Would these four years have left their mark upon her?
"And how is your niece, Miss Ormskirk?" he went on.
"Lilith? Oh, but—by the way, she is not 'Miss Ormskirk' now. She is married."