Amy had almost forgotten him.
"Yes, of course you'll stay till after supper. I'll—"
But a shadow fell across the threshold of the still open door, and looking up she saw a stranger,—an old man of rather forbidding aspect, whose glance passed swiftly from herself to the youth near the big fireplace.
There followed an instant of mutual and frowning recognition between these two; then Fayette disappeared through an inner doorway, while the newcomer remained at the entrance, his hat in his hand, and an assumed suavity in his manner.
Yet there was still a note of anger in the tone with which he observed:—
"I have called upon business with Cuthbert Kaye. Your father, I presume. Is he at home?"
"Not yet. He went to the city, yesterday, with my mother and brother. I expect them back on the next train. Will you come in?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll wait."
He accepted the great chair Amy rolled toward him, and let his gaze slowly sweep the cheerful apartment. Yet he knew it by heart, already, and his face brightened as he saw how little it had been changed since these many years. Apparently not one of its quaint and rich old furnishings was missing, and the passage of time had but added to the remembered charm of the place. Even the chair into which he sank had a familiar feel, as if his back had long ago fitted to those simple, comfortable lines. The antique candelabra—how often had he watched his grandmother's fingers polishing them to brilliancy.