her. But here comes that
nephew of mine, Tom Gray. I wonder if he's grown out of all
recollection."

While she was speaking one of the town hacks had driven up to the steps,
and there was a violent ring at the bell.

"Mr. Thomas Gray," announced the old butler at the door and Tom Gray,
who had been the subject of endless speculation and conjecture, entered
the room.

"If he turns out to be disagreeable or stupid or anything," the girls
had been whispering, "it would be such a pity because everybody else is
so nice."

Neither had the boys felt inclined to be prepossessed in Tom Gray's
favor. He was a stranger, from New York, older than themselves and in
college.

"I wish he wasn't going to butt in with his city manners," Reddy Brooks
was thinking regretfully. "He is sure to have a swelled head and try to
boss the crowd."

They had pictured him as a sort of dandy, with needle-toed patent
leather shoes and a coat cut in at the waist and padded over the
shoulders.

Even David had voiced a few thoughts on the subject of Tom Gray.

"I'll bet he's an English dude," he said. For Mrs. Gray's nephew had
spent most of his life in England. "He'll probably carry a cane and wear
a monocle."

They were not surprised, therefore, when a young man entered the room
who bore out somewhat the picture they had conjured. He was tall and
slender, very dapper and rather ladylike in his bearing. His alert, dark
eyes were set too close together, and his face had a narrow, sinister
look that made them all feel uncomfortable. He spoke with a decided
English accent, in a light, flippant voice which sent a quiver of
dislike up and down David's spine, and made Reddy Brooks give his right
arm a vigorous twirl as if he would have liked to pitch something at the
young man's head.

Mrs. Gray was the most surprised person in the room. It must be
remembered that she had not seen her nephew since he was a child, and
she had hoped for better things than this. However, always the most
courteous and loyal of souls, she now made the best of the situation and
greeted the newcomer cordially, though she did not bestow upon him the
motherly kiss she had been saving.

Tom Gray bowed low over his aunt's hand.

"You are so much changed, Tom; I should hardly have known you,"
exclaimed the old lady, trying to conceal her disappointment and dismay.
"England has weaned you away from your own country. You look as if you
had just stepped out of Piccadilly."