dyce fixed her eyes on her lap.

"You see, Grig," she began, "she was here a good deal before she left
the Firs, and, of course, she's related to me--though it's very distant.
With those horrid cases, you never know what will happen. Horace is
certain to say that she ought to go back to her husband; or, if that's
impossible, he'll say she ought to think of Society. Lady Rose Bethany's
case has shaken everybody, and Horace is nervous. I don't know how it
is, there's a great feeling amongst people about here against women
asserting themselves. You should hear Mr. Barter and Sir James Maiden,
and dozens of others; the funny thing is that the women take their side.
Of course, it seems odd to me, because so many of the Totteridges ran
away, or did something funny. I can't help sympathising with her, but I
have to think of--of----In the country, you don't know how things that
people do get about before they've done them! There's only that and
hunting to talk of."

Gregory Vigil clutched at his head.

"Well, if this is what chivalry has come to, thank God I'm not a
squire!"

Mrs. Pendyce's eyes flickered.

"Ah!" she said, "I've thought like that so often."

Gregory broke the silence.

"I can't help the customs of the country. My duty's plain. There's
nobody else to look after her."

Mrs. Pendyce sighed, and, rising from her chair, said: "Very well, dear
Grig; do let us go and have some tea."

Tea at Worsted Skeynes was served in the hall on Sundays, and was
usually attended by the Rector and his wife. Young Cecil Tharp had
walked over with his dog, which could be heard whimpering faintly
outside the front-door.

General Pendyce, with his knees crossed and the tips of his fingers
pressed together, was leaning back in his chair and staring at the wall.
The Squire, who held his latest bird's-egg in his hand, was showing its
spots to the Rector.

In a corner by a harmonium, on which no one ever played, Norah talked of
the village hockey club to Mrs. Barter, who sat with her eyes fixed on
her husband. On the other side of the fire Bee and young Tharp, whose
chairs seemed very close together, spoke of their horses in low tones,
stealing shy glances at each other. The light was failing, the wood logs
crackled, and now and then over the cosy hum of talk there fell short,
drowsy silences--silences of sheer warmth and comfort, like the silence
of the spaniel John asleep against his master's boot.

"Well," said Gregory so