It seemed as if her arrival had been eagerly awaited, for hardly had the chaise drawn up than the door of the house which was her home was flung open, and a footman came hurrying out to let down the steps of the chaise. He was followed by an elderly butler, who handed his mistress down, beaming a welcome, and saying: “Good-evening, Miss Abby! Well, and it is a good evening which brings you home again! I am very happy to see you, ma’am!”

“Oh, and so happy as I am, Mitton!” she responded. “I don’t think I was ever away for so many weeks before! Is my sister well?”

“Pretty stout, ma’am—barring a touch of rheumatism. She was a trifle down pin when you first went away, and took the notion into her head that she was of a consumptive habit—”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Abby, in comical dismay.

“No, ma’am,” agreed Mitton. “It was no more than an epidemic cold, which left her with a little cough—as the new doctor was able to convince her.” His tone was one of bland respect, but there was a twinkle in his eye, which drew an involuntary chuckle from her. The twinkle deepened, but all he said was: “Very glad she will be to see you, Miss Abby. Quite on the fidgets she has been for hours past, fearing that there might be another put-off.”

“Then I must go up to her immediately,” Abby said, and went with a light step into the house, leaving Mitton to extend a gracious welcome to her attendant.

Since the struggle for position between the butler grown old in the service of the family, and the one-time nurse to its three younger daughters, was unremitting, Mrs Grimston took this in bad part, detecting a note of patronage, and merely adjured him never to mind how she did, but to take care of Miss Abby’s jewel-box.

Meanwhile, Abby, running up the stairs, found her sister awaiting her at the top of the first flight.