“You see the piano blocking up the hall, though Sir Timothy hated music?” said Miss Crewys.

Her own mourning was thoughtfully graduated to indicate the time which had elapsed since Sir Timothy’s decease.  She wore a violet silk of sombre hue, ornamented by a black silk apron and a black lace scarf.  The velvet bow which served so very imperfectly as a skull-cap was also violet, intimating a semi-assuaged, but respectfully lengthened, grief for the departed.

“And now this maddest scheme of all,” said Miss Crewys.

“Bless me!  What mad scheme?”

“A house in London is to be hired as soon as Peter comes home.”

“Is that all?  But surely that is very natural.  For my part, I have often wondered why none of you ever cared to go to London, if only for your shopping.  I am very fond of a trip to town myself, now and then, for a few days.”

“A few days, it seems, would not suffice our cousin John’s notions.  He is pleased to think Peter may require skilled medical attendance; and, since he wrote he was in rags, a new outfit.  These, it seems, can only be obtained in the Metropolis nowadays.  My brother’s tailor still lives in Exeter; and with all his faults—­and nobody can dislike him more than I do—­I have never heard it denied that Dr. Blundell is a skilful apothecary.”

“Very skilful,” added Miss Crewys.  “You remember, Isabella, how quickly he put your poor little Fido out of his agony.”

“That is nothing; all doctors understand animals’ illnesses.  They kill numbers of guinea-pigs before they are allowed to try their hands on human beings,” said Lady Belstone.  “The point is, that if my poor brother Timothy had not been mad enough to go to London, he would have been alive at this moment.  I have never heard of Dr. Blundell finding it necessary—­much as I detest the man—­to perform an operation on anybody.”

“Apart from this painful subject, my dear lady,” murmured the canon, “I presume it is only a furnished house that Lady Mary contemplates?”

“During all the years of his married life Sir Timothy never hired a furnished house,” said Miss Crewys.  “The home of his fathers sufficed him.”

“She may want a change?” suggested the canon.

Miss Crewys interpreted him literally.  “No; she is in the best of health.”

“Better than I have ever seen her, and—­and gayer” said Lady Belstone, with emphasis.

“People who are gay and bright in disposition are the very ones who—­who pine for a little excitement at times,” said the courageous canon.  “There is so much to be seen and done and heard in London.  For instance, as you say—­she is passionately fond of music.”

“She gets plenty. We get more than enough,” said Miss Crewys, grimly.

“I mean good music;” then he recollected himself in alarm.  “No, no; I don’t mean hers is not charming, and Mr. John’s playing is delightful, but—­”