to a young man who called old furniture delicious and
Spanish brocade sweetly pretty. 'The modern Englishman,' said Mr.
Lawrence, 'was made to live in barracks or in a stable. Probably he is
only in his right place when he is on a horse. Could any one but he
live at Bowshott and dress in shabby shooting clothes, and smoke
cigarettes in a room where Charles I. made love, and wear hobnailed
boots to go up and down a grand staircase?'

Miss Abingdon sat on a convenient large couch, where a chaperon might
close her eyes for a moment towards the end of a long evening without
being accused of drowsiness. She was the recipient of many wise nods
and hints and questions.

'How well they look together!' said a lady, as Peter Ogilvie and Jane
came down the line of palms, and she left a blank at the end of her
speech, to be filled in, if possible, by Miss Abingdon.

'Jane makes Peter look rather short,' said another.

'She should have chosen some one taller.'

'I suppose it really will be settled some day,' said Mr. Lawrence.

'They went for a ride this morning,' said Miss Abingdon dryly, 'and
they were positively disappointed because Sir Nigel Christopherson
could not go with them. I do not profess to understand love-affairs of
the present day.'

Mr. Lawrence was a portly, red-faced young man, with a high-pitched
voice. He throve on scandal, and gossiped like a housekeeper. Miss
Abingdon liked and thoroughly approved him; his views were sound, his
opinions orthodox, and he always took her in to supper at any dance
where they met.

Mr. Lawrence's manner towards elderly ladies was a mixture of deference
and familiarity which never failed to give satisfaction; he could even
discuss Miss Abingdon's relatives with her without offence, and he gave
advice on domestic matters. People in want of a cook or of a good
housemaid generally wrote to Mr. Lawrence to ask if he knew of any one
suitable for the post, and he recommended houses and health-resorts,
and knew to a fraction what every one's income was. He was a useful
member of society in a neighbourhood like that of Culversham, and was
considered an interesting caller. It was his ambition to be first with
every piece of intelligence, and he enjoyed telling news, even of a
harassing description. Mr. Lawrence believed that Miss Abingdon's
niece was already engaged to Peter Ogilvie, and he began by a series of
deft questions to try to abstract the definite information th