r's glebe. The rector himself was away on a
holiday, and the curate was doing all the work for the time. Big golden
bees buzzed slowly and pertinaciously in and out of the sweet flowers in
the formal rose garden, chaunting a note that was like the diapason of
some distant organ. Mrs. Windsor's pug, "Bung," lay on his fat side in
the sun with half-closed eyes, snoring loudly to indicate the fact that
he seriously meditated dropping into a doze. All the air was full of
mingled magical scents, hanging on the tiny breeze that stole softly
about among the leaves and flowers. There was a clink of china and
silver in the cottage, for the tall footmen were preparing to bring out
the tea. How pleasant it all was! Lady Locke felt half inclined to
snore with her eyes opened, like Bung. It seemed such a singularly
appropriate tribute to the influence of place and weather. However, she
restrained herself, and merely folded her hands in her lap and fell into
a waking dream.

She was roused by the scrunch of carriage wheels on the gravel drive.

"There they are!" said Mrs. Windsor, springing from her chair with
vivacious alacrity. "The train has been punctual for once in its life.
How shocked the directors would be if they knew it, but, of course, it
will be kept from them. Ah! Madame Valtesi, so glad to see you! How do,
Lord Reggie? How do, Mr. Amarinth? So you all came together! This is
such a mercy, as I have only one carriage down here except the cart,
which doesn't count. I told you we should have to rough it, didn't I?
That is part of the attraction of the week. Simplicity in all things,
you know, especially carriages. Mr. Tyler can't come. Isn't it shocking?
Influenza. London is so full of microbes. Do microbes go to parties, Mr.
Amarinth? because Mr. Tyler lives entirely at parties. He must have
caught it in Society. Will you have tea before you go to your rooms?
Yes, do. Here it comes. We are going to have country strawberries and
penny buns made in the village, and quite hot! So rustic and wholesome!
After all, it is nice to eat something wholesome just once in a while,
isn't it?"

Her guests settled into the arm-chairs, and Bung, who had risen in some
pardonable fury, lay down again and prepared to resume his interrupted
meditations.

Madame Valtesi was already attired in her trousseau. She had travelled
down from London in a shady straw hat trimmed with pink roses. A white
veil swept loosely round her face; she carried