t or
loose tweeds, was the usual sight.

Father Dormer was a tallish thin man, with very aquiline features, and
dark hair going grey on his temples. At the moment he and Miss Tibbutt
were deep in a discussion on rose growing, a favourite hobby of his.
Deeply engrossed, they were weighing the advantages of the scent of the
more old-fashioned kinds, against the shape and colour of the newer
varieties, with the solemnity of two judges.

"They're pretty equally balanced in my garden," said Father Dormer. "I
can't do without the old-fashioned ones, despite the beauty of the newer
sorts. I've two bushes of the red and white--the York and Lancaster rose.
I was a Lancashire lad, you know."

And then the first soft notes of the gong sounded from the hall, rising
to a full boom beneath the footman's accomplished stroke.

There was a sound of running steps descending the stairs, and a final
jump.

"Keep it going, Dale," said a voice without. And then Trix entered the
room, slightly flushed by her rapid descent of the stairs, but with an
assumption of leisurely dignity.

"I'm not late," she announced with great innocence. "The gong hasn't
stopped."

Doctor Hilary, who was facing the door, looked at her. He saw a small,
elf-like girl in a very shimmery green frock. The green enhanced her
elf-like appearance.

"Deceiver," laughed Pia. "We heard you quite, quite distinctly."

Obviously caught, Trix echoed the laugh.

"Well, anyhow I'd have been in before the echo stopped," she announced.

They went informally into the dining-room, where the light of shaded wax
candles on the table mingled with the departing daylight, for the
curtains were still undrawn.

"I like this kind of light," remarked Trix, as she seated herself.

Trix almost always thought aloud. It meant that conversation in her
presence seldom flagged, since her brain was rarely idle; though she
could be really marvellously silent when she perceived that silence was
desirable.

"Do you know this garden?" she said, addressing herself to Doctor Hilary,
by whom she was seated.

He assented.

"Well, isn't it lovely? That's what made me nearly late,--going round it
again. I've been round five times since yesterday. It's just heavenly
after London. Roses _versus_ petrol, you know." She wrinkled up her nose
as she spoke.

"You ought to see the gardens of Chorley Old Hall, Miss Devereux," said
Father Dormer. "Not that I mean any invidious comparison between th