rnered little
drawing-room with its bay-window, where we could sit and work and watch
the old men in their grey smocks having a palaver under the big elm in
the centre of the green.

"Mrs. Luttrell"--interrupting herself--"do you know Ivy Dene Lodge is
to let now? I saw the advertisement in the _Standard_. Now, I should
love to live there again. If anything happened to poor father I know I
should go back there; it is the only place I ever called home. Don't
you love a village green, with geese waddling over it and a big pond
where little bare-legged urchins are always sailing their boats, and
then the church and the lich-gate and the vicarage smothered in
creepers?"

"Why, Greta, what a charming description! You quite make me long to
see it."

"But it is not as charming as it really is; even strangers allow that
Medlicott is a pretty village. It is true that Ivy Dene has not much
of a garden--just a little patch of lawn and a mulberry tree and a
flower-bed or two; but as I spent most of my time in the Grange garden
that did not matter.

"Dear mother was always so unselfish. She would never let me stay at
home with her. She thought it good for me to be with young people of
my own age, and so Olive and Alwyn and I were always together. Olive
was my friend, but I always looked upon Alwyn as a dear younger
brother. He is not really much younger--only a few months--but I was
always a little older than my age."

"He must have been very handsome," observed Olivia, and Greta coloured
slightly.

"Yes; all the Gaythornes were handsome. Mr. Gaythorne himself was a
fine, stately-looking man, only a little foreign and unusual in his
dress. I was always a little afraid of him, and I never approved of
the way he treated Alwyn. He had been over-indulged and petted in his
boyhood, but later on his father thwarted him unnecessarily. He was
always calling him to account for some foolish imprudence. And though
his mother and Olive shielded him as much as possible, there were often
sad scenes at the Grange. Mr. Gaythorne had set his heart on Alwyn's
reading for the Bar. He thought he had sufficient money and influence
to warrant the hope that his only son might eventually enter
Parliament, but Alwyn had already secretly determined to be an artist.
He detested his law studies and could not be induced to work, and
spoilt all his father's plans.

"As I told you last night," finished Greta, "they were both to blame.