old man's favour? Was it not the unhappy feature of the
situation that they were all, more or less, doing the same thing?

Meantime, callers arrived daily. Stout, middle-aged matrons, with
pompous manners; thin matrons, precise and formal of speech; tall
elegants, with flowing robes and Parisian millinery; sporting-looking
women, with short skirts and motor-caps. One after another they drove
up to the door and sat for a few moments in the drawing-room, going
through the same stereotyped conversation: "How pleasant to have the
Court opened once more! How do you like Raby? How delightful to have
such delightful summer-like weather!" Then they drank a cup of tea,
nibbled a piece of cake, and said: "_Good_-afternoon! _So_ pleased to
have met you! We shall hope to see you again _very_ soon!"

Occasionally the matron brought a daughter in her train, and still more
occasionally a shy, depressed-looking husband; but at the best of times
the calls were not cheerful occasions, and Ruth and Mollie looked
forward with little pleasure to paying their return visits.

"Though it must at least be more interesting than receiving at home, for
we shall see other people's houses, and the way they arrange their
drawing-rooms. I do love studying strange drawing-rooms!" said Ruth
meditatively. "In country houses they ought to be charming--all chintzy
and smelling of pot-pourri! All the same, Mollie, I'm disappointed in
the neighbours. They aren't a bit thrilling, as we expected."

"People generally seem uninteresting at first. They may turn out to be
perfect darlings, when we know them better. I dare say they drove away
saying the same thing of us, for we behaved like a couple of
marionettes, sitting dressed up in our best, saying, `Yes, indeed!'
`No, indeed!' `Very much, indeed!' `Thank you so much!' as if we were
wound up by machinery. We must really launch out, and say something a
trifle more original!"

It was quite an exciting occasion when the girls set out on their first
calling expedition. It was an ideal May afternoon, and the prospect of
driving over the countryside in an open carriage, behind two prancing
horses, was in itself a delight.

Victor was to make one of the party, but Jack refused contemptuously to
accompany them if only for the drive, declaring that even a sprained
ankle had its silver lining if it let him off so boring a function. He
was sitting in the hall, waiting to cheer--or more strictly s