“Don’t let yourself be run in,” he said, generously to Hugh.  “You’re not up to it.  It takes a strong man to grapple with this sort of thing.  Kills off the weakly ones like flies.  You lie low in the smoking-room till it’s all over.”

* * * * *

“All I can say is,” remarked Mrs. Gresley, as she and Hester led the Vicarage donkey and cart up the drive, heavily laden with the work of many months, “that the Pratts have behaved exceedingly badly.  Here they are, the richest people by far in the parish, and they would not even take a stall, they would not even furnish half of one, and they said they would be away, and they are at the Towers, after all.  No one likes the Pratts more than I do, or sees their good points as I do, but I can’t shut my eyes to the fact that they are the meanest of the mean.”

The Pratts had only contributed two “bed-spreads,” and a “sheet-sham,” and a set of antimacassars.  If the reader wishes to know what “bed-spreads” and “sheet-shams” are, let him ask his intended, and let him see to it that he marries a woman who cannot tell him.

Mrs. Pratt had bought the antimacassars for the Towers, and secretly adored them until Ada pronounced them to be vulgar.  The number of things which Ada discovered to be vulgar increased every day, and included the greater part of her mother’s wardrobe, much to the distress of that poor lady.  Mrs. Pratt had reached the size when it is prudent to concentrate a love of bright colors in one’s parasol.  On this particular afternoon she shed tears over the fact that Ada refused to accompany her if her mother wore a unique garment of orange satin, covered with what appeared to be a plague of black worms.

Of course, the sale of work was combined with a garden-party, and a little after three o’clock carriage after carriage began to arrive, and Sybell, with a mournful, handsome, irreproachably dressed husband, took up her position on the south front to receive her guests.

The whole neighborhood had been invited, and it can generally be gauged with tolerable accuracy by a hostess of some experience who will respond to the call and who will stay away.  Sybell and her husband were among those who were not to be found at these festivities, neither were the Newhavens, save at their own, nor the Pontisburys, nor the Bishop of Southminster.  Cards had, of course, been sent to each, but no one expected them to appear.

Presently, among the stream of arrivals, Sybell noticed the slender figure of Lady Newhaven, and—­astonishing vision—­Lord Newhaven beside her.

“Wonders will never cease,” said Doll, shaken for a moment out of the apathy of endurance.

Sybell raised her eyebrows, and advanced with the prettiest air of empressement to meet her unexpected guests.  No, clearly it was impossible that the two women should like each other.  They were the same age, about the same height and coloring; their social position was too similar; their historic houses too near each other.  Lady Newhaven was by far the best looking, but that was not a difference which attracted Sybell towards her.  On this occasion Sybell’s face assumed its most squirrel-like expression, for, as ill-luck would have it, they were dressed alike.