a great letter-writer."

"They're saying horrid things. Well, Sarah Lacey would, of course. I
can't see any reason for believing them. I'm on her side! One may wonder
at her taste--one must--but she has a right to please herself, and to
take her own time about it. Of course that night journey--!" Lady
Aspenick smiled in a deprecating manner.

"Impulsive!" I observed.

Lady Aspenick caught at the word joyfully. "That's it--impulsive! That's
what I've always said. Dear Jenny is impulsive--that's all!" She got
into her carriage and ordered the coachman to drive her to Mrs. Jepps's.
She was going to tell Mrs. Jepps that Jenny was impulsive--going by the
road through the park to tell Mrs. Jepps that it was no more than that.

Her own line taken, Lady Aspenick gathered a tiny faction to raise
Jenny's banner. They could not do much against Lady Sarah's open
viciousness, Fillingford's icy silence, the union of High Church and Low
in the persons and the adherents of Alison and of Mrs. Jepps. But Sir
John followed his wife, Bindlecombe took courage to uplift a friendly
voice, and old Mr. Dormer began to waver. His memories went back to
George IV.--days in which they were not hard on pretty women--having,
indeed, remarkably little right to be. Mr. Dormer was reported to be
inclined to think that the men of the surrounding families might ride in
Jenny's park--about their ladies it was, perhaps, another question. It
was understood that Lady Aspenick's faction gave great offense at
Fillingford Manor. The alliance between the two houses had been close,
and Fillingford Manor saw treachery to itself in any defense of Jenny.

So they debated and gossiped, sparred and wrangled--and no more news
came. At the Priory we began to settle down into a sort of routine,
trying to find ourselves work to do, trying to fill the lives that
seemed now so empty. Our position--like Bertram Ware's attitude about
the park road--was provisional--hopelessly provisional. We were not
living; we were only waiting. Not the actual events of to-day, but the
possible event of to-morrow was the thing for which we existed. It was
like listening perpetually for a knock on the door. Little could be made
of a life like that. Well, we were not to sink into the dullness of our
routine just yet.

In my youth I have heard a sage preach to the young men, his hearers and
critical disciples, on the text of the certainty of life; discarding,
perhaps thinking trite, perha