bore a strange resemblance to her, as a little running brook might bear the reflection of an ancient tree.
Leigh, amazed and delighted, turned to look at Finch. Finch was grinning deprecatingly at him. "My grandmother and my young brother," he whispered, and he took out a large handkerchief and blew his nose, as though to hide his embarrassed face behind it.
He had tooted his long nose so loudly that the faces of the players turned toward the door, not so much in inquiry as in resentment at the interruption.
"Ha, Finch," said his grandmother, "I'm beating Wakefield. Got him all fussed up."
"That's right, Gran."
"Come and kiss me. Who's the nice-looking boy?"
He kissed her on the cheek. "My friend, Arthur Leigh. Arthur, my grandmother."
Old Mrs. Whiteoak held out her hand, a shapely hand, though the fingers now had a clawlike curve to them. Leigh was astonished by the number of rings she wore, the brilliance of her rubies and diamonds, astonished too by the grip of her fingers, for he saw now that she was very old indeed.
"How old do you suppose?" she asked, as though guessing his thoughts.
"Old enough to look very wonderful and wise," he answered.
She showed all her teeth in a pleased grin. "A good speech. Very good. Not many young men are so apt to-day. . . . Well, I'm past one hundred. A hundred and one. And I can beat this young man at backgammon. And I can walk to the gate out there with the help of my two sons. Not bad, eh? But I don't venture out in this weather. Oh no, no. I stick by the fire. My next walk will be in April—three months off. You must come and see me do it."
The parrot, which had been perched in his wooden ring at a short distance behind her chair, now took his head from under his wing and, after blinking for a moment, as though dazed by the firelight, flew heavily to her shoulder and pressed his head against her cheek. Their two old
