nce.

The carriage bowled swiftly along the straight, well-made road, but
Rorie hated riding in a brougham. The soft padded confinement galled
him.

"Why couldn't she send me my dog-cart?" he asked himself indignantly.

Briarwood was a large white house in a small park. It stood on much
higher ground than the Abbey House, and was altogether different from
that good old relic of a bygone civilisation. Briarwood was distinctly
modern. Its decorations savoured of the Regency: its furniture was
old-fashioned, without being antique. The classic stiffness and
straightness of the First French Empire distinguished the gilded chairs
and tables in the drawing-room. There were statues by Chantrey and
Canova in the spacious lofty hall; portraits by Lawrence and Romney in
the dining-room; a historical picture by Copley over the elephantine
mahogany sideboard; a Greek sarcophagus for wines under it.

At its best, the Briarwood house was commonplace; but to the mind of
Lady Jane Vawdrey, the gardens and hot-houses made amends. She was a
profound horticulturist, and spent half her income on orchids and rare
newly-imported flowers, and by this means she had made Briarwood one of
the show places of the neighbourhood.

"A woman must be distinguished for something, or she is no better than
her scullery-maid," said Lady Jane to her son, excusing herself for
these extravagances. "I have no talent for music, painting, or poetry,
so I devote myself to orchids; and perhaps my orchids turn out better
than many people's music and poetry."

Lady Jane was not a pleasant-tempered woman, and enjoyed the privilege
of being more feared than liked; a privilege of which she makes the
most, and which secured her immunity from many annoyances to which
good-natured people are subject. She did good to her poor neighbours,
in her own cold set way, but the poor people about Briarwood did not
send to her for wine and brandy as if she kept a public-house, and was
benefited by their liberal patronage; the curate at the little Gothic
church, down in the tiny village in a hollow of the wooded hills, did
not appeal to Lady Jane in his necessities for church or parish. She
subscribed handsomely to all orthodox well-established charities, but
was not prone to accidental benevolence. Nobody ever disappointed her
when she gave a dinner, or omitted the duty-call afterwards; but she
had no unceremonious gatherings, no gossipy kettle-drums, no
hastily-arranged picni