where a band played and a tent
for refreshments had been put up, he talked to her whenever he could and
did his best to keep a cheerful, careless air, succeeding so well that
no one observing him would have guessed that he had some difficulty in
doing so. Except Cicely; she felt the constraint. She felt that he was
in process of marking the difference in her attitude towards him, and
was impatient of the slow, ruminating observation of which she would be
the object. As long as he was natural with her she would do her best to
keep up the same friendly and even affectionate relations which had
existed between them up to a year ago, but she could not help a slight
spice of irritation creeping into her manner in face of that subtle
change behind his ordinary address. She was trying to clear up her
thoughts on many matters, and Jim was the last person in the world to
help her. She wanted to be left alone. If only he would do that! It was
the only possible way by which he could gain the end which, even now,
she was not quite sure that she would refuse him in the long-run.

"Well, you needn't be snappy," Jim said to her, with a good-humoured
smile on his placid face when he had asked her for further details of
her visit to London.

She made herself smile in return. "Was I?" she said. "I didn't mean to
be; but I have been home nearly a month now, and I'm rather tired of
talking about London."

"All right," replied Jim. "I agree that this is a better place. Come and
have a look at the nags. There has been such a bustle that I haven't
been near them to-day."

But Cicely refused to go and look at the nags. Nags were rather a sore
point with her, and the constant inspection and weighing of the
qualities of those at Kencote was enough for her without the addition of
the stables at Mountfield. So they went back from the rose-garden where
they were standing to join the crowd on the lawn.

Aunt Ellen and Aunt Laura sat in the shade of a big cedar and held a
small reception. During their long lives they had been of scarcely any
account in the ebb and flow of Clinton affairs, but the tide of years
had shelved them on a little rock of importance, and they were paid
court to because of their age. Old Lord Meadshire was the only other
member of their generation left alive. He was their first cousin. His
mother had been the youngest of Merchant Jack's five daughters. He had
never failed to pay them courteous attention whenever he had b