antations; the purple outlines of the fells. Just as in the room
within, so the scene without was fused into a perfect harmony and
keeping by the mellowing light. There was in it not a jarring note, a
ragged line--age and dignity, wealth and undisputed place: Martindale
expressed them all. The Gaddesdens had twice refused a peerage; and with
contempt. In their belief, to be Mr. Gaddesden of Martindale was enough;
a dukedom could not have bettered it. And the whole country-side in
which they had been rooted for centuries agreed with them. There had
even been a certain disapproval of the financial successes of Philip
Gaddesden's father. It was true that the Gaddesden rents had gone down.
But the country, however commercialised itself, looked with jealousy on
any intrusion of "commercialism" into the guarded and venerable
precincts of Martindale.

The little lady who was now, till Philip's majority and marriage,
mistress of Martindale, was a small, soft, tremulous person, without the
intelligence of her daughter, but by no means without character.
Secretly she had often felt oppressed by her surroundings. Whenever
Philip married, she would find it no hardship at all to retire to the
dower house at the edge of the park. Meanwhile she did her best to
uphold the ancient ways. But if _she_ sometimes found Martindale
oppressive--too old, too large, too rich, too perfect--how was it going
to strike a young Canadian, fresh from the prairies, who had never been
in England before?

A sudden sound of many footsteps in the hall. The drawing-room door was
thrown open by Philip, and a troop of men entered. A fresh-coloured man
with grizzled hair led the van.

"Well, Mrs. Gaddesden, here we all are. Philip has given us a capital
day!"

A group of men followed him; the agent of the property, two small
neighbouring squires, a broad-browed burly man in knickerbockers, who
was apparently a clergyman, to judge from his white tie, the adjutant of
the local regiment, and a couple of good-looking youths, Etonian friends
of Philip. Elizabeth and Mariette came in from the garden, and a young
cousin of the Gaddesdens, a Miss Lucas, slipped into the room under
Elizabeth's wing. She was a pretty girl, dressed in an elaborate
demi-toilette of white chiffon, and the younger men of the party in
their shooting dress--with Philip at their head--were presently
clustered thick about her, like bees after pollen. It was clear, indeed,
that Philip was pa