“How will Mr. Urquhart receive me?” his thoughts ran on. “This brother of Otter’s doesn’t like him; but that’s nothing.⁠ ⁠… I’ll deal with these awful pictures later!” And he carefully extinguished his candles and stepped out on the landing.

The little dining-room of Pond Cottage faced the drawing-room at the foot of the stairs; and when he stood in the hall, hesitating over which room to enter, he was surprised to find himself beckoned to, eagerly and surreptitiously, by a bent old woman in a blue apron, laying the dinner. He crossed the threshold in answer to this appeal.