They had no affection for Sir Edwin or his lady, and Miss Hilda they decidedly disliked; their treatment at the hands of these new people contrasted unpleasantly enough with the memory of old times; but a spirit of loyal subordination ruled their blood, and, to Sir Edwin at all events, they felt gratitude for their retention at the lodge.  Mrs. Rockett was a healthy and capable woman of not more than fifty, but no less than her invalid husband would she have dreaded the thought of turning her back on Brent Hall.  Rockett had often consoled himself with the thought that here he should die, here amid the fine old trees that he loved, in the ivy-covered house which was his only idea of home.  And was it not a reasonable hope that Betsy, good steady girl, should some day marry the promising young gardener whom Sir Edwin had recently taken into his service, and so re-establish the old order of things at the lodge?

‘I half wish May wasn’t coming,’ said Mrs. Rockett after long and anxious thought.  ‘Last time she was here she quite upset me with her strange talk.’

‘She’s a funny girl, and that’s the truth,’ muttered Rockett from his old leather chair, full in the sunshine of the kitchen window.  They had a nice little sitting-room; but this, of course, was only used on Sunday, and no particular idea of comfort attached to it.  May, to be sure, had always used the sitting-room.  It was one of the habits which emphasised most strongly the moral distance between her and her parents.

The subject being full of perplexity, they put it aside, and with very mixed feelings awaited their elder daughter’s arrival.  Two days later a cab deposited at the lodge Miss May, and her dress-basket, and her travelling-bag, and her holdall, together with certain loose periodicals and a volume or two bearing the yellow label of Mudie.  The young lady was well dressed in a severely practical way; nothing unduly feminine marked her appearance, and in the matter of collar and necktie she inclined to the example of the other sex; for all that, her soft complexion and bright eyes, her well-turned figure and light, quick movements, had a picturesque value which Miss May certainly did not ignore.  She manifested no excess of feeling when her mother and sister came forth to welcome her; a nod, a smile, an offer of her cheek, and the pleasant exclamation, ’Well, good people!’ carried her through this little scene with becoming dignity.

‘You will bring these things inside, please,’ she said to the driver, in her agreeable head-voice, with the tone and gesture of one who habitually gives orders.

Her father, bent with rheumatism, stood awaiting her just within.  She grasped his hand cordially, and cried on a cheery note, ’Well, father, how are you getting on?  No worse than usual, I hope?’ Then she added, regarding him with her head slightly aside, ’We must have a talk about your case.  I’ve been going in a little for medicine lately.  No doubt your country medico is a duffer.  Sit down, sit down, and make yourself comfortable.  I don’t want to disturb any one.  About teatime, isn’t it, mother?  Tea very weak for me, please, and a slice of lemon with it, if you have such a thing, and just a mouthful of dry toast.’