in the busy bustling town of Bricklands, a rapidly growing and prosperous mushroom place, situated thirty miles south of London, and within two miles of our ancient and respectable hamlet.  Here she belonged to several clubs, bridge, tennis and croquet; enjoyed being a Triton among minnows; entertained a third-rate set at “Littlecote,” and joined gay little theatre parties to London to “do a play,” and return home by the last train.

Housekeeping sat but lightly on Mrs. Shafto’s graceful shoulders, for the Shaftos also possessed a family treasure named Hannah, an elderly woman, who had been in service with “the family” and now managed the house, and looked after the comforts and buttons of her master and his boy.

Mr. and Mrs. Shafto went their separate ways, and were rarely to be seen in one another’s company.  The lady assured her friends that her husband’s health was indifferent, and that he did not care for society; for her part she liked amusement, excitement, life; whilst he preferred to read, write, overlook his garden, and occasionally run up to London.  She did not trouble herself much about her son—­a handsome active boy, resembling his father in looks.  Between these there undoubtedly existed a deep affection.  During the holidays they were frequently to be met walking or riding together, and Shafto pere would so far emerge from his retirement as to be a proud spectator at cricket matches in Tremenheere Park and elsewhere.  Douglas and two of the Tremenheere boys were schoolmates, and he was in continual request at their home.  Unfortunately these visits were displeasing to Mrs. Shafto, as was also his intimacy with the young people at the vicarage; and poor Douglas had an awkward part to play.  He could not avoid or drop his friends; yet, on the other hand, there were painful difficulties with his mother, who declared that he was a mean fellow to run after people who had insulted her, and one day, when in a towering passion, she had been overheard to scream “that he was a thorn in her side, and a true Shafto!”

But all this time Miss Jane Tebbs remains stationed at the drawing-room window, watching the road with unwinking vigilance.  For a long while she beheld no object of special interest, but at last, after seeing the grocer’s cart, a travelling tinker, two cows and a boy go by, her patience was handsomely rewarded.  To her delight, she descried Mrs. Billing, the doctor’s wife, emerge from “Littlecote” and, hammering on the window to attract notice, she flew down to open the hall door.

Mrs. Billing, a stout, middle-aged lady, looked unusually hot and flustered as she waddled through the little green gate and entered the cottage.

“Why, my dear, you seem quite upset!” cried Jane, as she welcomed the visitor, “come into the dining-room, and have a glass of milk.”

But Mrs. Billing dismissing the proffered refreshment with a dramatic wave of her hand, subsided upon the only chair in the narrow hall and gasped out: