ere is the village at last."

That afternoon, at four o'clock, a telegram arrived. It was from Mr.
Tyler, and stated that he had caught the influenza, and could not come.
Mrs. Windsor was much annoyed.

"Oh dear, I do hope my week is not going all wrong again this year!" she
exclaimed plaintively. "I cannot fill his place now. Everybody is so
full of engagements at this time of the year. We shall be a man short."

"Never mind, Betty," said her cousin. "Tommy is quite a man in his own
eyes, and I rather like being a little neglected sometimes. It is
restful."

"Do you think so? Well, perhaps you are right. Men are not always
soothing. Let us go out into the garden. The others ought to be here
directly, unless they have got the influenza too. I am thankful Mr.
Tyler did not have it here. It would be worse than a fit. A fit only
lasts for a few minutes after all, and then it is not catching, which is
such a consolation. Really, when one comes to think of it, a fit is one
of the best things one can have, if one is to have anything. We are
going to take tea here under the cedar tree."

Lady Locke opened her well-formed rather ample mouth, and drew in a deep
breath of country air. She had no sort of feeling about the absence of
Mr. Tyler, whom she had never seen. The country, and the warmth, and the
summer were quite enough for her. Still, she looked forward to studying
Lord Reggie with an eagerness that she hardly acknowledged even to
herself. She hoped vaguely that he would be different in the country,
that he would put on a country mind with his country clothes, that his
brain would work more naturally under a straw hat, and that in canvas
shoes he might find a certain amount of salvation. At any rate, he would
look delightfully cool and young on the velvet lawn under the great
cedar. That was certain. And his whimsicalities were generally amusing,
and sometimes original. As to Mr. Amarinth, she could not imagine him in
the country at all. He smacked essentially of cities. What he would do
in this _galere_ she knew not. She leaned back in her basket-chair
and enjoyed herself quietly. The green peace, after London, was
absolutely delicious. She could hear a hen clucking intermittently from
the farmyard hard by, the twitter of birds from the yew-trees, the
chirping voices of Tommy and the curate's little boys, who had been
formally introduced to each other, and had retired to play in a paddock
that was part of the recto