niton
had been a discovery of Mr. Wilcox's--a discovery of which he was not
altogether proud. It was up towards the Welsh border, and so difficult
of access that he had concluded it must be something special. A ruined
castle stood in the grounds. But having got there, what was one to do?
The shooting was bad, the fishing indifferent, and womenfolk reported
the scenery as nothing much. The place turned out to be in the wrong
part of Shropshire, and though he never ran down his own property to
others, he was only waiting to get it off his hands, and then to let
fly. Evie's marriage was its last appearance in public. As soon as a
tenant was found, it became a house for which he never had had much use,
and had less now, and, like Howards End, faded into Limbo.

But on Margaret Oniton was destined to make a lasting impression. She
regarded it as her future home, and was anxious to start straight with
the clergy, etc., and, if possible, to see something of the local life.
It was a market-town--as tiny a one as England possesses--and had for
ages served that lonely valley, and guarded our marches against the
Celt. In spite of the occasion, in spite of the numbing hilarity that
greeted her as soon as she got into the reserved saloon at Paddington,
her senses were awake and watching, and though Oniton was to prove one
of her innumerable false starts, she never forgot it, or the things that
happened there.

The London party only numbered eight--the Fussells, father and son,
two Anglo-Indian ladies named Mrs. Plynlimmon and Lady Edser, Mrs.
Warrington Wilcox and her daughter, and, lastly, the little girl,
very smart and quiet, who figures at so many weddings, and who kept a
watchful eye on Margaret, the bride-elect. Dolly was absent--a domestic
event detained her at Hilton; Paul had cabled a humorous message;
Charles was to meet them with a trio of motors at Shrewsbury; Helen had
refused her invitation; Tibby had never answered his. The management was
excellent, as was to be expected with anything that Henry undertook; one
was conscious of his sensible and generous brain in the background. They
were his guests as soon as they reached the train; a special label
for their luggage; a courier; a special lunch; they had only to look
pleasant and, where possible, pretty. Margaret thought with dismay
of her own nuptials--presumably under the management of Tibby. "Mr.
Theobald Schlegel and Miss Helen Schlegel request the pleasure of Mrs.