lt in a yew-tree that watched over
the Scotch garden, were in a violent flutter because one of their chicks
had fallen out of the nest. The mother bird, at the edge of the long
orchard grass, was silent, trying by example to still the tiny creature's
cheeping, lest it might attract some large or human thing.

Mrs. Pendyce, sitting under the oldest cherry-tree, looked for the sound,
and when she had located it, picked up the baby bird, and, as she knew
the whereabouts of all the nests, put it back into its cradle, to the
loud terror and grief of the parent birds. She went back to the bench
and sat down again.

She had in her soul something of the terror of the mother thrush. The
Maidens had been paying the call that preceded their annual migration to
town, and the peculiar glow which Lady Maiden had the power of raising
had not yet left her cheeks. True, she had the comfort of the thought,
'Ellen Maiden is so bourgeoise,' but to-day it did not still her heart.

Accompanied by one pale daughter who never left her, and two pale dogs
forced to run all the way, now lying under the carriage with their
tongues out, Lady Maiden had come and stayed full time; and for
three-quarters of that time she had seemed, as it were, labouring under a
sense of duty unfulfilled; for the remaining quarter Mrs. Pendyce had
laboured under a sense of duty fulfilled.

"My dear," Lady Maiden had said, having told the pale daughter to go into
the conservatory, "I'm the last person in the world to repeat gossip, as
you know; but I think it's only right to tell you that I've been hearing
things. You see, my boy Fred" (who would ultimately become Sir Frederick
Maiden) "belongs to the same club as your son George--the Stoics. All
young men belong there of course-I mean, if they're anybody. I'm sorry
to say there's no doubt about it; your son has been seen dining
at--perhaps I ought not to mention the name--Blafard's, with Mrs. Bellew.
I dare say you don't know what sort of a place Blafard's is--a lot of
little rooms where people go when they don't want to be seen. I've never
been there, of course; but I can imagine it perfectly. And not once, but
frequently. I thought I would speak to you, because I do think it's so
scandalous of her in her position."

An azalea in a blue and white pot had stood between them, and in this
plant Mrs. Pendyce buried her cheeks and eyes; but when she raised her
face her eyebrows were lifted to their utmost lim