apology was made if she was asked to drink tea with people who were simply ‘town’.  The Noels of Doddescombe Leigh, the Cliffords of Budleigh Salterton, the Powels of Haldon, the Cheritons of Alphington—­all county persons, but very frequently in the city—­were greeted by her, and greeted her, on terms of equality.  Her most intimate friend was old Mrs MacHugh, the widow of the last dean but two, who could not have stood higher had she been the widow of the last bishop.  And then, although Miss Stanbury was intimate with the Frenches of Heavitree, with the Wrights of Northernhay, with the Apjohns of Helion Villa, a really magnificent house, two miles out of the city on the Crediton Road, and with the Crumbies of Cronstadt House, Saint Ide’s, who would have been county people, if living in the country made the difference, although she was intimate with all these families, her manner to them was not the same, nor was it expected to be the same, as with those of her own acknowledged set.  These things are understood in Exeter so well!

Miss Stanbury belonged to the county set, but she lived in a large brick house, standing in the Close, almost behind the Cathedral.  Indeed it was so close to the eastern end of the edifice that a carriage could not be brought quite up to her door.  It was a large brick house, very old, with a door in the middle, and five steps ascending to it between high iron rails.  On each side of the door there were two windows on the ground floor, and above that there were three tiers of five windows each, and the house was double throughout, having as many windows looking out behind into a gloomy courtyard.  But the glory of the house consisted in this, that there was a garden attached to it, a garden with very high walls, over which the boughs of trees might be seen, giving to the otherwise gloomy abode a touch of freshness in the summer, and a look of space in the winter, which no doubt added something to the reputation even of Miss Stanbury.  The fact for it was a fact that there was no gloomier or less attractive spot in the whole city than Miss Stanbury’s garden, when seen inside, did not militate against this advantage.  There were but half-a-dozen trees, and a few square yards of grass that was never green, and a damp ungravelled path on which no one ever walked.  Seen from the inside the garden was not much; but, from the outside, it gave a distinct character to the house, and produced an unexpressed acknowledgment that the owner of it ought to belong to the county set.

The house and all that was in it belonged to Miss Stanbury herself, as did also many other houses in the neighbourhood.  She was the owner of the ‘Cock and Bottle,’ a very decent second class inn on the other side of the Close, an inn supposed to have clerical tendencies, which made it quite suitable for a close.  The choristers took their beer there, and the landlord was a retired verger.  Nearly the whole of one side of a dark passage leading out