rawbacks. I forget whether you've been up to it?"

"As far as the house, never."

"Well, Howards End is one of those converted farms. They don't really
do, spend what you will on them. We messed away with a garage all among
the wych-elm roots, and last year we enclosed a bit of the meadow and
attempted a rockery. Evie got rather keen on Alpine plants. But it
didn't do--no, it didn't do. You remember, your sister will remember,
the farm with those abominable guinea-fowls, and the hedge that the old
woman never would cut properly, so that it all went thin at the
bottom. And, inside the house, the beams--and the staircase through a
door--picturesque enough, but not a place to live in." He glanced
over the parapet cheerfully. "Full tide. And the position wasn't right
either. The neighbourhood's getting suburban. Either be in London or out
of it, I say; so we've taken a house in Ducie Street, close to Sloane
Street, and a place right down in Shropshire--Oniton Grange. Ever heard
of Oniton? Do come and see us--right away from everywhere, up towards
Wales."

"What a change!" said Margaret. But the change was in her own voice,
which had become most sad. "I can't imagine Howards End or Hilton
without you."

"Hilton isn't without us," he replied. "Charles is there still."

"Still?" said Margaret, who had not kept up with the Charles's. "But I
thought he was still at Epsom. They were furnishing that Christmas--one
Christmas. How everything alters! I used to admire Mrs. Charles from our
windows very often. Wasn't it Epsom?"

"Yes, but they moved eighteen months ago. Charles, the good chap"--his
voice dropped--"thought I should be lonely. I didn't want him to move,
but he would, and took a house at the other end of Hilton, down by
the Six Hills. He had a motor, too. There they all are, a very jolly
party--he and she and the two grandchildren."

"I manage other people's affairs so much better than they manage them
themselves," said Margaret as they shook hands. "When you moved out of
Howards End, I should have moved Mr. Charles Wilcox into it. I should
have kept so remarkable a place in the family."

"So it is," he replied. "I haven't sold it, and don't mean to."

"No; but none of you are there."

"Oh, we've got a splendid tenant--Hamar Bryce, an invalid. If
Charles ever wanted it--but he won't. Dolly is so dependent on modern
conveniences. No, we have all decided against Howards End. We like it in
a way, but now we feel