parish excursions and events.—­Here Miss Bilson became lyrical, speaking with gasping breath and glowing face, of “a call to exalted spheres of action, of great Proconsuls, Empire Builders, Pillars of the State.”—­Naturally you hesitated to intrude on the time and attention of such a distinguished person—­that in point of fact was her main reason for disposing of the matter of the carriage horses herself.  How could she trouble Sir Charles with such a homely detail?—­But Damaris’ case, needless to remark, was very different.  At her age it was invidious to be too exclusive.  Miss Felicia Verity felt—­so she, Theresa, was certain—­that it was a pity Damaris did not make more friends in the village now she was out of the schoolroom.  May and Doris Horniblow were sweet girls and highly educated.  They, of course, were going.  And Captain Taylor, she understood would bring his daughter, Louisa—­who was home for a few days before the opening of term at the Tillingworth High School where she was second mistress.

“It is always well to realize the attainments of young people of your own age, even if they are not in quite the same social grade as yourself.  Your going would give pleasure too.  It will be taken as a compliment to the vicar and the Church—­may really, in a sense, be called patriotic since an acknowledgment of the duty we owe, individually, to the local community of which we form part.  And then,” she added, naively giving herself away at the last, “of course, if you go over to the station in the brake Patch cannot make any difficulties about driving it.”

Here Theresa stayed the torrent of her eloquence and looked up, to find Damaris’ eyes fixed upon her in incredulous wonder.

“Have you nothing to say, dear, in answer to my proposition?” she enquired, with a suddenly anxious, edgy little laugh.

“I am afraid I have a lot to say, some of which you won’t like.”

“How so?” Theresa cried, still playfully.  “You must see how natural and reasonable my suggestion is.”  Then becoming admonitory.  “You should learn to think a little more of others.—­It is a bad habit to offer opposition simply for opposition’s sake.”

“I do not oppose you for the mere pleasure of opposing,” Damaris began, determined her voice should not shake.  “But I’m sorry to say, I can’t agree to the horses being used to draw a loaded brake.  I could not ask Patch.  He would refuse and be quite right in refusing.  It’s not their work—­nor his work either.”

She leaned forward, trying to speak civilly and gently.

“There are some things you don’t quite understand about the stables, or about the servants—­the things which can’t be done, which it’s impossible to ask.—­No,—­wait, please—­please let me finish”—­

For between astonishment, chagrin, and an inarticulate struggle to protest, Miss Bilson’s complexion was becoming almost apoplectic and her poor fat little cheeks positively convulsed.