But the quality of the sun was changed. It had been June then.
He had stopped the car, told the chauffeur to back into the narrow gate instinctively; but as he waited, while still the bell had not ceased to jangle, his instinct translated itself into purpose that could be stated and reasoned over. Not much reasoning was necessary; simply he wanted to get back into the atmosphere that had once been radiant. Some brightness might linger here, when he saw the little dingy hall, the confined little sitting-room, and perhaps the tiny veranda that looked out over the lawn and the railway embankment. His heart ached for the Lucia of those days, whether she was real or false then; he wanted the belief that she was real. That might help him now; she might be on his side, phantom though she should prove to be, to fight the deadlier phantom that sat at home with him underneath the Corots.
There succeeded to the clangour of the bell a long silence. Then from upstairs came the sound of descending feet, and the door was opened. It was not Arbuthnot who opened it, nor the godly Mrs. Inglis, who performed such functions when Arbuthnot had her afternoons out; it was Aunt Cathie. She saw him, and threw the door wide.
"Why, if I ever!" she said. "Dear Edgar, if you had only told me! And I'm not fit to be seen. Lucia is not with you?"
"No, Aunt Cathie; she is away. I am at Brayton for a day or two before we go abroad, looking out photographic things."
Aunt Cathie was still in crackling black of the nature of bombazine, though it was over a year since Elizabeth died. But the crackling black was worn and brownish; the magisterial precision which had been so characteristic of Aunt Cathie was lacking in her now, both as regards dress and address. She seemed softened, faded.
"But how nice of you to come and see me," she said, "though the most dreadful thing has happened. There is nobody in; I am quite alone in the house. My servants"—her voice stumbled and faltered a moment—"are all out. It was such a fine afternoon. But I will give you some tea."
The ghosts of past days were on the wing now, fluttering, dancing, laughing, calling to him out of the time when it was dawn with love. He could not but remember that it was thus that Lucia had received him at Littlestone; the servants had
