hour, provided there were not too many hills and not too much ‘slowing down’ for the benefit of unexpected policemen round corners.  And at sunset, a pleasant peace and stillness settled on the Manor grounds, erstwhile disturbed by groups of restless persons walking aimlessly to and fro,—­persons who picked flowers merely to throw them away again, and played tennis and croquet only to become quarrelsome and declare that the weather was much too hot for games.  Everybody that was anybody had gone their ways,—­and within her own domicile Mrs. Spruce breathed capaciously and freely, and said in confidence to the cook and to Primmins: 

“Thank the Lord an’ His mercies, that’s all over!  An’ from what I hears, Miss Maryllia won’t be wantin’ no more London folks for a goodish bit o’ time, an’ we’ll all ‘ave peace to turn round an’ look at ourselves an’ find out whether we’re sane or silly, for the two old leddies what is stayin’ on give no trouble at all, an’ that Mr. Gigg don’t care what he gets, so long as he can bang away on the pianner an’ make Miss Cicely sing, an’ I will own she do sing lovely like the angels in a ’evenly ’ost, but there!—­I don’t want no more company, for what with French maids an’ valets, all talkin’ the wickedest stuff I ever heard about the ways an’ doins o’ their masters an’ missises in London, I’m downright glad to be rid o’ the whole lot!  For do what we will, there is limits to patience, an’ a peaceful life is what suits me best not knowin’ for the past three weeks whether my ’ead or my ‘eels is uppermost with the orderin’ an’ messin’ about, though I will say Miss Maryllia knows what’s what, an’ ain’t never in a fuss nor muddle, keepin’ all wages an’ bills paid reg’lar like a hoffice clerk, mebbe better, for one never knows whether clerks pays out what they’re told or keeps some by in their own pockets, honesty not bein’ always policy with the likes o’ they.  Anyway ‘ere we are all alive an’ none the worse for the bustle, which is a mercy, an’ now mebbe we’ll have time to think a bit as we go, an’ stop worrittin’ over plates an’ dishes an’ glass an’ silver, which, say what we like, do sit on one like a burden when there’s a many to serve.  A bit o’ quiet ’ull do us all good!”

The ‘quiet’ she thus eulogised was to be longer and lonelier than she imagined, but of this she knew nothing.  The whole house was delightfully tranquil after the departure of the visitors, and the spirit of a grateful repose seemed to have imparted itself to its few remaining occupants.  Louis Gigue played wonderful improvisations on the piano that evening, and Cicely sang so brilliantly and ravishingly that had she then stood on the boards of the Paris Grand Opera, she would have created a wild ‘furore.’  Lady Wicketts knitted placidly; she was making a counterpane, which no doubt someone would reluctantly decide to sleep under—­and Miss Fosby embroidered a cushion cover for Lady Wicketts, who already possessed many of these articles wrought by the same hand.  Maryllia occupied herself in writing many letters,—­and all was peace.  Nothing in any way betokened a change, or suggested the slightest interruption to the sun-lighted serenity of the long, lovely summer days.