ady trees, glimpses
of red roofs beyond, and a church tower, could be seen. Little tables
were placed at convenient intervals, holding silk, scissors, cushions
full of needles and pins, and all that could be wanted for the work in
hand, which was to be embroidered in separate strips; over these many
ladies were already deeply engaged, though it was quite early, and there
were still some empty seats.

"Shall we see Mrs Forrest this afternoon?" asked one of those who sat
near the hostess at the end of the room.

"I think not," replied Mrs Hunt, as she greeted a new-comer; "she told
me she had to drive out to Losenick about the character of a
maid-servant."

"Oh, well," returned the other with a little shake of the head, "even
Mrs Forrest can't manage to be in two places at once, can she?"

Mrs Hunt smiled, and looked pleasantly round on her assembled guests,
but did not make any other answer.

"Although I was only saying this morning, there's very little Mrs
Forrest can't do if she makes up her mind to it," resumed Miss Gibbins,
the lady who had first spoken. "Look at all her arrangements at
Waverley! It's well known that she manages the schools almost
entirely--and then her house--so elegant, so orderly--and such a way
with her maids! _Some_ people consider her a little stiff in her
manner, but I don't _know_ that I should call her that."

She glanced inquiringly at Mrs Hunt, who still smiled and said nothing.

"It's not such a very difficult thing," said Mrs Hurst, the wife of the
curate of Dornton, "to be a good manager, or to have good servants, if
you have plenty of money." She pressed her lips together rather
bitterly, as she bent over her work.

"There was one thing, though," pursued Miss Gibbins, dropping her voice
a little, "that Mrs Forrest was not able to prevent, and that was her
brother-in-law's marriage. I happen to know that she felt that very
much. And it _was_ a sad mistake altogether, wasn't it?"

She addressed herself pointedly to Mrs Hunt, who was gazing serenely
out into the garden, and that lady murmured in a soft tone:

"Poor Prissy Goodwin! How pretty and nice she was!"

"Oh, as to that, dear Mrs Hunt," broke in a stout lady with round eyes
and a very deep voice, who had newly arrived, "that's not quite the
question. Poor Prissy was very pretty, and very nice and refined, and
as good as gold. We all know that. But _was_ it the right marriage for
Mr Bernard Forrest? An organ