t rider. Lady Cheverel had unwonted calls to make and
invitations to deliver. Mr. Bates's turf, and gravel, and flower-beds
were always at such a point of neatness and finish that nothing
extraordinary could be done in the garden, except a little extraordinary
scolding of the under-gardener, and this addition Mr. Bates did not
neglect.

Happily for Caterina, she too had her task, to fill up the long dreary
daytime: it was to finish a chair-cushion which would complete the set of
embroidered covers for the drawing-room, Lady Cheverel's year-long work,
and the only noteworthy bit of furniture in the Manor. Over this
embroidery she sat with cold lips and a palpitating heart, thankful that
this miserable sensation throughout the daytime seemed to counteract the
tendency to tears which returned with night and solitude. She was most
frightened when Sir Christopher approached her. The Baronet's eye was
brighter and his step more elastic than ever, and it seemed to him that
only the most leaden or churlish souls could be otherwise than brisk and
exulting in a world where everything went so well. Dear old gentleman! he
had gone through life a little flushed with the power of his will, and
now his latest plan was succeeding, and Cheverel Manor would be inherited
by a grand-nephew, whom he might even yet live to see a fine young fellow
with at least the down on his chin. Why not? one is still young at sixty.

Sir Christopher had always something playful to say to Caterina.

'Now, little monkey, you must be in your best voice: you're the minstrel
of the Manor, you know, and be sure you have a pretty gown and a new
ribbon. You must not be dressed in russet, though you are a
singing-bird.' Or perhaps, 'It is your turn to be courted next, Tina. But
don't you learn any naughty proud airs. I must have Maynard let off
easily.'

Caterina's affection for the old Baronet helped her to summon up a smile
as he stroked her cheek and looked at her kindly, but that was the moment
at which she felt it most difficult not to burst out crying. Lady
Cheverel's conversation and presence were less trying; for her ladyship
felt no more than calm satisfaction in this family event; and besides,
she was further sobered by a little jealousy at Sir Christopher's
anticipation of pleasure in seeing Lady Assher, enshrined in his memory
as a mild-eyed beauty of sixteen, with whom he had exchanged locks before
he went on his first travels. Lady Cheverel would