d
unlimited spaciousness and comfort within; and was redeemed from
positive ugliness without, by the fine ivy, magnolia trees, and
wistaria, of many years' growth, climbing its plain face, and now
covering it with a mantle of soft green, large white blooms, and a
cascade of purple blossom.

A terrace ran the full length of the house, bounded at one end by a
large conservatory, at the other by an aviary. Wide stone steps, at
intervals, led down from the terrace on to the soft springy turf of the
lawn. Beyond--the wide park; clumps of old trees, haunted by shy brown
deer; and, through the trees, fitful gleams of the river, a narrow
silver ribbon, winding gracefully in and out between long grass,
buttercups, and cow-daisies.

The sun-dial pointed to four o'clock.

The birds were having their hour of silence. Not a trill sounded from
among the softly moving leaves, not a chirp, not a twitter. The
stillness seemed almost oppressive. The one brilliant spot of colour in
the landscape was a large scarlet macaw, asleep on his stand under the
cedar.

At last came the sound of an opening door. A quaint old figure stepped
out on to the terrace, walked its entire length to the right, and
disappeared into the rose-garden. The Duchess of Meldrum had gone to
cut her roses.

She wore an ancient straw hat, of the early-Victorian shape known as
"mushroom," tied with black ribbons beneath her portly chin; a loose
brown holland coat; a very short tweed skirt, and Engadine "gouties."
She had on some very old gauntlet gloves, and carried a wooden basket
and a huge pair of scissors.

A wag had once remarked that if you met her Grace of Meldrum returning
from gardening or feeding her poultry, and were in a charitable frame
of mind, you would very likely give her sixpence. But, after you had
thus drawn her attention to yourself and she looked at you, Sir Walter
Raleigh's cloak would not be in it! Your one possible course would be
to collapse into the mud, and let the ducal "gouties" trample on you.
This the duchess would do with gusto; then accept your apologies with
good nature; and keep your sixpence, to show when she told the story.

The duchess lived alone; that is to say, she had no desire for the
perpetual companionship of any of her own kith and kin, nor for the
constant smiles and flattery of a paid companion. Her pale daughter,
whom she had systematically snubbed, had married; her handsome son,
whom she had adored and spoiled,