A maid answered Stephen's ring, and he was shown into Virginia's small parlour. He had scarcely time to glance about him when Virginia came swiftly into the room.
“Dear Stephen, it was so good of you to come at once,” she said, as she advanced with outstretched hands, and he realized that for some reason which he did not understand, he was much to her, and that he had made her very happy, as Gibbs had said he would. He kissed her and led her to a chair.
“It wasn't good of me, for I wanted to see you.”
“You hadn't forgotten your old aunt? I was almost afraid.”
“Old!” he scoffed. “Have you no one to pay you compliments, Aunt Virginia?”
He had been genuinely surprised. In her way Virginia was as far removed from the commonplace as was Benson himself; only, he could not have analysed it, her distinction was the finer, rarer thing. She was younger, too, than he had expected to find her; for while Benson's appearance added years to his actual age, she still retained her youth in an unusual degree.
She searched Stephen's face with tender concern.
“Am I at all satisfactory?” he laughed.
“Yes, you are wholly a Landray, Stephen,” she said. “You look, dear, as your father did at your age. You are older than he was when he went to the war; yes, you look as he did. All the Landray men have the same look, and you could never be mistaken for any one but a Landray.”
“Some day you must tell me about my father,” he said gently, entering into her mood.