s I have said, to go off without her.
This would take place soon after luncheon. Most of us know how the
events of the day drag themselves on tediously in such a country
house as Aylmer Park,--a country house in which people neither read,
nor flirt, nor gamble, nor smoke, nor have resort to the excitement
of any special amusement. Lunch was on the table at half-past one,
and the carriage was at the door at three. Eating and drinking
and the putting on of bonnets occupied the hour and a half. From
breakfast to lunch Lady Aylmer, with her old "front," would occupy
herself with her household accounts. For some days after Clara's
arrival she put on her new "front" before lunch; but of late,--since
the long conversation in the carriage,--the new "front" did not
appear till she came down for the carriage. According to the theory
of her life, she was never to be seen by any but her own family
in her old "front." At breakfast she would appear with head so
mysteriously enveloped,--with such a bewilderment of morning caps,
that old "front" or new "front" was all the same. When Sir Anthony
perceived this change,--when he saw that Clara was treated as though
she belonged to Aylmer Park, then he told himself that his son's
marriage with Miss Amedroz was to be; and, as Miss Amedroz seemed
to him to be a very pleasant young woman, he would creep out of his
own quarters when the carriage was gone and have a little chat with
her,--being careful to creep away again before her ladyship's return.
This was Clara's new friend.

"Have you heard from Fred since he has been gone?" the old man asked
one day, when he had come upon Clara still seated in the parlour in
which they had lunched. He had been out, at the front of the house,
scolding the under-gardener; but the man had taken away his barrow
and left him, and Sir Anthony had found himself without employment.

"Only a line to say that he is to be here on the sixteenth."

"I don't think people write so many love-letters as they did when I
was young," said Sir Anthony.

"To judge from the novels, I should think not. The old novels used to
be full of love-letters."

"Fred was never good at writing, I think."

"Members of Parliament have too much to do, I suppose," said Clara.

"But he always writes when there is any business. He's a capital man
of business. I wish I could say as much for his brother,--or for
myself."

"Lady Aylmer seems to like work of that sort."

"So she does. S