plied Laura. "But the Warringborns would
only have taken their business to another firm, of course. Godfrey
says a man must look after himself in these days. You can't afford to
offend a valuable client for the sake of a second cousin."

"Ridiculous!" said Mrs. Graham. Then she paused a moment until her
husband's voice again made confidences possible. "Oh, they will get
used to the idea of houses being built there in time. Look how
disturbed they were about Emerald Avenue when it was first started."

"Yes." Laura paused, her charming, irregular face with its creamy
complexion and frame of brown wavy hair turned to the speaker, and her
broad forehead wrinkled a little, as it was when she was puzzled or
perturbed. "But I really am sorry for them now. You see, the privet
hedge hid all those streets from the garden. They could forget there
were any there. Now they won't be able to forget." She paused. "I
simply daren't tell them who has bought Thorhaven Hall. I know it gave
even me a shock, because I always used to feel an awed sensation--the
sort you have going into a strange church or a museum when you are
little--whenever I called at the Hall. It was so dark and big and
quiet, and the old butler took your name as if you were at a funeral,
and ought to be awfully honoured to have been asked to attend. I
simply can't imagine the Perritt's there."

Mrs. Graham rose. "Oh, I believe the Perritt children are very sweet.
And there is something rather nice about Mrs. Perritt, I'm told."

Miss Ethel looked across the room, and it was evident that she heard
the last remark, for she said in a dry tone: "Lots of people would
discover something sweet about me if I came into ten thousand a year;
nothing like money for enabling the eye to detect hidden charms."

Mrs. Graham laughed somewhat uneasily. "How amusing you are, Miss
Ethel! I often tell Arthur it is quite refreshing to have a chat with
you." But for all that, she began to move towards the door.

Laura also rose, and it could be now seen that her tall figure was a
trifle angular and immature, and must remain so, for she was already
twenty-eight years old. "I will come as far as your house, Mrs.
Graham," she said. "Godfrey promised to call for me there."

"Well! No good crying over spilt milk," said Mr. Graham, standing and
shaking down his trousers--after a habit he had--with his hands in his
pockets. "Things will never be the same again in our da