The arrival of furniture vans, horses, carriages and a number of servants, afforded unqualified interest to the Misses Tebbs; and moreover advertised the fact that the new-comers were well-to-do; and after allowing a reasonable time for the strangers to settle down, the neighbours called.

By and by these calls were returned by Mrs. Shafto in a smart victoria and a still smarter costume; her husband was merely represented by a neatly printed card, which bore the name of “Mr. Edward Shafto, Athenaeum Club.”  Mr. Edward Shafto was rarely to be met beyond his grounds and garden, unless driving through the village to Bricklands railway station, en route for London.  He did not sit on the Bench, nor was he a churchwarden, the usual grounds of meeting.  When encountered he was invariably agreeable and had charming easy manners, but not much to say for himself, and his acquaintance, like the farmers and the claret, got “no forrarder.”  Gradually the painful truth was accepted that Shafto did not care to know people.  He never dined out, he did not shoot or hunt, but it was mysteriously whispered that “he wrote.”  What, no one precisely knew, but one fact was common property:  he was fond of horticulture and the once famous gardens of “Littlecote” had been delightfully restored.

If Tadpool was held at arm’s length by Edward Shafto, the community had no difficulty in making acquaintance with his consort, a pretty vivacious lady who accepted all invitations, and herself gave tennis parties, bridge parties, luncheons and teas.  For some time the neighbourhood was disposed to like her, although perhaps she was not quite “off the top shelf,” a little too demonstrative, loud and unreserved; then by degrees Mrs. Shafto fell into disfavour; quiet folk were afraid of her, she enjoyed repeating ill-natured remarks, was capricious in her likes and dislikes, made a good deal of mischief, and separated chief friends.

The lady was not disposed to be reticent respecting her family affairs; there was something satisfactory in this!  People learned that her husband was really a Shafto of Shafton, and also that his elder brother, who actually reigned in the family place, was “a brute.”  She volubly explained that they had deserted the Border and moved south, partly because “the pater” wished to be within easy reach of London, his Club and musty old libraries, and also because it was more convenient for Douglas, who was at Winchester.

Then gradually it came to pass that the village bored the new-comer; bored her to death.  She became restless and quarrelsome, had a coolness with the vicarage regarding a pew, with Mrs. Tremenheere at the Park about a housemaid, and actually cut Mrs. General Finch “dead” in the village post office, owing to a mislaid visiting-card.  At the end of three years Lucilla Shafto had embroiled herself with almost everyone in her immediate vicinity, and found her true level and most congenial companions