that, in spite of it, she still could not entirely dispel that
vague sense of uneasiness. It spoilt the keen pleasure she ordinarily
took in the garden, especially in the evening and most particularly in
the month of June. She had a real sentiment about the month of June. From
the first day to the last she held the hours tenderly, lingeringly, loath
to let them slip between her fingers. There were only three more days
left, and now there was this tiny uneasiness, which prevented her mind
from entirely concentrating on the happiness of these remaining hours.

And then she gave herself a little mental shake. It was, after all, a
selfish consideration on her part. If there were cause for uneasiness,
she ought to be thinking of Pia rather than herself, and if there were no
cause--and Pia had just declared there was not--she was being thoroughly
absurd. She gave herself a second mental shake, and looked towards the
house, whence a young footman was just emerging with a tray on which were
two coffee cups and a sugar basin. He put the tray down on a small rustic
table near them, and went back the way he had come, his step making no
sound on the soft grass.

"I wonder what it feels like to be a servant, and have to do everything
to time," she said suddenly. "It must be trying to have to be invariably
punctual."

Now, as a matter of fact, Miss Tibbutt was exceedingly punctual, but then
it was by no means absolutely incumbent upon her to be so; she could
quite well have absented herself entirely from a meal if she desired.
That, of course, made all the difference.

"You are punctual," said the Duchessa laughing.

"I know. But it wouldn't in the least matter if I were not. You could go
on without me. You couldn't very well go on if Dale had forgotten to lay
the table, or if Morris had felt disinclined to cook the food."

"No," agreed the Duchessa. And then, after a moment, she said, "Anyhow
there are some things we have to do to time--Mass on Sundays and days of
obligation, for instance."

Miss Tibbutt nodded. "Oh, of course. But that's generally only once a
week. Besides that's different. It's a big voice that tells one to do
that--the voice of the Church. The other is a little human voice giving
the orders. I know, in a sense, one ought to hear the big voice behind it
all; but sometimes one would forget to listen for it. At least, I know I
should. And then I should simply hate the routine, and doing
things--little ordinar