“We were discussing the age of this old place,” she said, smiling in the frankest and friendliest way.  “How old do you think it is?”

The father of Anthony intervened, also with a shadow of controversy in his manner.  “I was explaining to the young lady that it dates from the early bronze age.  Before chronology existed....  But she insists on dates.”

“Nothing of bronze has ever been found here,” said Sir Richmond.

“Well, when was this early bronze age, anyhow?” said the young lady.

Sir Richmond sought a recognizable datum.  “Bronze got to Britain somewhere between the times of Moses and Solomon.”

“Ah!” said the young lady, as who should say, ’This man at least talks sense.’

“But these stones are all shaped,” said the father of the family.  “It is difficult to see how that could have been done without something harder than stone.”

“I don’t see the place,” said the young lady on the stone.  “I can’t imagine how they did it up—­not one bit.”

“Did it up!” exclaimed the father of the family in the tone of one accustomed to find a gentle sport in the intellectual frailties of his womenkind.

“It’s just the bones of a place.  They hung things round it.  They draped it.”

“But what things?” asked Sir Richmond.

“Oh! they had things all right.  Skins perhaps.  Mats of rushes.  Bast cloth.  Fibre of all sorts.  Wadded stuff.”

“Stonehenge draped!  It’s really a delightful idea;” said the father of the family, enjoying it.

“It’s quite a possible one,” said Sir Richmond.

“Or they may have used wicker,” the young lady went on, undismayed.  She seemed to concede a point.  “Wicker is likelier.”

“But surely,” said the father of the family with the expostulatory voice and gesture of one who would recall erring wits to sanity, “it is far more impressive standing out bare and noble as it does.  In lonely splendour.”

“But all this country may have been wooded then,” said Sir Richmond.  “In which case it wouldn’t have stood out.  It doesn’t stand out so very much even now.”

“You came to it through a grove,” said the young lady, eagerly picking up the idea.

“Probably beech,” said Sir Richmond.

“Which may have pointed to the midsummer sunrise,” said Dr. Martineau, unheeded.

“These are novel ideas,” said the father of the family in the reproving tone of one who never allows a novel idea inside his doors if he can prevent it.

“Well,” said the young lady, “I guess there was some sort of show here anyhow.  And no human being ever had a show yet without trying to shut people out of it in order to make them come in.  I guess this was covered in all right.  A dark hunched old place in a wood.  Beech stems, smooth, like pillars.  And they came to it at night, in procession, beating drums, and scared half out of their wits.  They came in there and went round the inner circle with their torches.  And so they were shown.  The torches were put out and the priests did their mysteries.  Until dawn broke.  That is how they worked it.”