He paused at the door, glanced hastily round the old familiar room, with the known pictures hanging on the walls, and the windows opening on the straight alley of arbutus-trees. His smile grew rather meaningless—he hesitated.
“Will you come to this chair near me? I am very glad to see you, Major Harper.”
“Thank you, Miss Valery.”
He crossed the room to her sofa, Nathanael making way for him. He just acknowledged his brother's presence and Agatha's, then took Miss Valery's extended hand, bowing over it with an attempt at his former grace.
“I hope I find your health quite re-established? This change to your own pleasant house—pleasant as ever, I see”—he once more glanced round it—paused—then altogether broke down. “It seems but a day since we were children, Anne,” he said, in a faltering voice.
Agatha and her husband moved away. They respected the one real feeling which had outlasted all his sentimentalism. For several minutes they stood at the far window apart. When Anne called them back, Major Harper had recovered himself, and was sitting by her.
“Nathanael, our old friend here says you wished to speak with me?”
“I did.”
“Make haste, then, for I am going to London to-night I have made up my mind. I cannot settle here in Dorsetshire.”
“Not if it were your father's wish—his last longing desire?”