d for this. Tom Kettering, going up to the house to
report her young ladyship's decision to remain on another day, was told
he must wait for a letter her ladyship the Countess would write, to take
to Strides Cottage, and bring back an answer. He could easily go a few
inches out of his way to leave his Aunt Keziah at Denby's, and take Ruth
Thrale home to Strides. But he put up the closed brougham, and harnessed
the grey mare in the dogcart, as she wanted a run. He knew that Gwen
meant what she said, and would not come back.

It was about nine o'clock when they reached the Cottage, and Tom waited
for the answer to the Countess's letter. Ruth came in, to be told that
her mother had talked too much, and must lie quiet. But she _had_ been
talking--that was something! The comment was Ruth's, and the reply to it
was hopeful and consolatory. Oh yes--a great deal! And she must be
better, to be able to talk so much. However, Ruth saw no change in the
appearance of the still, white figure on the bed.

Gwen sat in the front-room and read her mother's remonstrance with her
for absenting herself in this way and leaving her ladyship alone to
contend with the arduous duty of entertaining her guests. "I think," it
ran, "that you might at least remember that you are your father's
daughter, even if you forget that Sir Spencer and Lady Derrick have come
all the way from Nettisham in Shropshire." What followed was a good deal
emphasized. "Understand, my dear, that what I say is _not intended to
hold good_ if this old lady is _actually dying_, but _for anything short
of that_ it does appear to me that your behaviour is _at least
inconsiderate_. Do let me entreat you to fix _a reasonable hour_ for
your return to-morrow, if you _adhere to your resolution_ not to come
to-night. Pray tell Kettering when he is to call for you _before twelve
to-morrow, so that you may be in time for lunch_." This last was a
three-lined whip.

In order that Gwen should not suppose that there had been too flattering
a _hiatus_ owing to her absence, the letter wound up:--"We have had some
_very nice music_. It turns out that Emily and Fanny sing '_I would that
my love_' quite charmingly." Gwen's remark to herself:--"Of course!" may
be intelligible to old stagers who remember the fifties, and the
popularity of this Mendelssohn duet at that time--notably the
intrepidity of the singers over the soft word the merry breezes wafted
away in sport. Emily and Fanny were two