“For the moment we needn’t go back so far,” he said.  “I’ll remind you what a girl thirteen years old did in Ireland a hundred years ago.  Only thirteen was Catherine Woods—­mark that, Sabina and Alice—­but she was a genius who lived in Dunmore, County Down, and she spun a hank of linen yarn of such tenuity that it would have taken seven hundred such hanks to make a pound of yarn.”

He turned to Estelle.

“Sabina and the other spinners will appreciate this,” he said, “but to explain the marvel of such spider-like spinning, Estelle, I may tell you that seventeen and a half pounds of Catherine’s yarn would have sufficed to stretch round the equator of the earth.  No machine-spun yarn has ever come within measurable distance of this astounding feat, and I have never heard of any spinner in Europe or America equalling it; yet even this has been beaten when we were painting our noses blue.”

“Where?” asked Estelle breathlessly.

“In the land of all wonders:  Egypt.  Herodotus tells us of a linen corselet, presented to the Lacedemonians by King Amasis, each thread of which commanded admiration, for though very fine, each was twisted of three hundred and sixty others!  And if you decline to believe this—­”

“Oh, Mister Churchouse, we quite believe it I’m sure, sir, if you say so,” interrupted Mrs. Chick.

“Well, a later authority, Sir Gardiner Wilkinson, tells us of equal wonders.  The linen which he unwound from Egyptian mummies has proved as delicate as silk, and equal, if not superior, to our best cambrics.  Five hundred and forty threads went to the warp and a hundred and ten to the weft; and I’m sure a modern weaver would wonder how they could produce quills fine enough for weaving such yarn through.”

“There’s nothing new under the sun, seemingly,” said old Mrs. Chick.

“Indeed there isn’t, my dear, and so, perhaps, in the time to come, we shall spin again as well as the Egyptians five or six thousand years ago,” declared Ernest.

“And even then the spiders will always beat us I expect,” said Estelle.

“True—­true, child; nor has man learned the secret, of the caterpillar’s silken spinning.  Talking of caterpillars, you may, or may not, have observed—­”

It was at this point that Raymond, behind the speaker’s back, beckoned Sabina, and presently, as Mr. Churchouse began to expatiate on Nature’s spinning, she slipped away.  The garden was large and held many winding paths and secluded nooks.  Thus the lovers were able to hide themselves from other eyes and amuse themselves with their own conversation.

Sabina praised Estelle.

“She’s a dear little lady and ever so clever, I’m sure.”

“So she is, and yet she loses a lot.  Though her father’s such a great sportsman, she doesn’t care a button about it.  Wouldn’t ride on a pony even.”

“I can very well understand that.  Nor would I if I had the chance.”