“Her ladyship is in the garden,” said the footman who received them.  And he led the way through a door in the wall of the side court.  They followed—­in a constrained silence.  Lydia felt puzzled, and rather angry.

Faversham recovered himself.

“I apologize!  They have all the virtues.”

His voice was lowered—­for her ear; there was deference in his smile.  But somehow Lydia was conscious of a note of stormy self-assertion in him, which was new to her; something strong and stubborn, which refused to take her lead as usual.

Lady Tatham advanced.  The eyes of a group of people sitting in a circle under the shade of a spreading yew tree turned toward them.

Boden, who had given Faversham a perfunctory greeting, fell back into his chair again, and watched the new agent’s reception with coolly smiling eyes.

Tatham came hurrying up to greet them.  No one but Lydia could have distinguished any change in the boyish voice and look.  But it was there.  She felt it.

He turned from her to Faversham.

“Awfully glad to see you.  Hope you’re quite fit again.”

“Very nearly all right, thank you.”

“Are you actually at work?  Great excitement everywhere about you!”

Tatham stood, with his straw hat tilted toward the back of his head, and his hands on his sides, observing his guest.

Faversham shrugged his shoulders.

“I feel horribly nervous!”

“Well you may!” laughed Tatham.  “Never mind.  We’ll all back you up, if you’ll let us.”

“As far as I am concerned—­the smallest contributions thankfully received.  Who are these people here?”

Tatham introduced him.

Then to Lydia: 

“Delorme is waiting for you.”  He carried her off.

By this time Mr. Andover, the old grizzled squire who had been Lydia’s partner at dinner the night before, had dropped in, and various other residents from the neighbourhood.  They gathered eagerly round Faversham, in the deep shade of the yews.

And before long, the new man had produced an excellent first impression upon these country gentlemen who were now to be his neighbours.  It was evident that he was anxious to remove grievances.  His tone as to his employer was guarded, but not at all servile; and he made the impression of a man of ability accustomed to business, though modestly avowing his ignorance of rural affairs; independent, yet anxious to do his best with a great trust.

After half an hour’s discussion, Barton drew Victoria aside, and said to her excitedly that the new agent was “a capital fellow!”

“He’ll do the job, you’ll see!  Melrose is breaking up—­thank God!  Every one who’s seen him lately says he’s not half the man he was.  He’ll have to give this fellow a free hand.  That estate has been a plague-spot!  But we’ll get it cleared up now.”

Victoria wondered.  Secretly, she doubted the power of any man to manage Melrose even moriturus.