. That is always the way they begin."

The excellent widow herself had a bad finger, which was a great
impediment in administering the cooling beverages, but these were so
excellent as to suggest the furnishing of a stall therewith for the
thirsty, as something sure to be popular and at small expense.
Therewith the committee broke up, all having been present but Miss
Moy, whose absence was not regretted, though apologized for by Mrs.
Duncombe. "I could not get her away from the stables," she said.
"She and Bob would contemplate Dark Hag day and night, I believe."

"I wouldn't allow it," said Lady Tyrrell.

Mrs. Duncombe shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "That's Mr. Moy's
look-out," she said.

"You don't choose to interfere with her emancipation," said Lady
Tyrrell.

"Clio would tell you she could take care of herself at the stables
as well as anywhere else."

"Query?" said Lady Tyrrell. "Don't get into a scrape, Bessie. Does
your Captain report on the flirtation with young Simmonds?"

"Who is he?" asked Cecil

"The trainer's son," said Bessie. "It is only a bit of imitation of
Aurora Floyd."

"You know she's an heiress," said Lady Tyrrell. "You had better
take care how you put such a temptation in his way."

"I don't suppose the Moys are anybody," said Cecil.

"Not in your sense, my dear," said Lady Tyrrell, laughing; "but from
another level there's a wide gap between the heiress of Proudfoot
Lawn and the heir of the training stables."

"Cecil looks simply disgusted," said Bessie. "She can't bear the
Moys betwixt the wind and her nobility."

"They are the great drawback to Swansea, I confess," said Cecil.

"Oh! are you thinking of Swanslea?" cried Mrs Duncombe.

"Yes," said Lady Tyrrell, "she is one to be congratulated on
emancipation."

"Well can I do so," said Mrs. Duncombe. "Don't I know what mothers-
in-law are? Mine is the most wonderful old Goody, with exactly the
notions of your meek Mrs. Miles."

"Incompatibility decidedly," said Lady Tyrrell.

"Only she was the Spartan mother combined with it," continued Mrs.
Duncombe. "When Bob was a little urchin, he once, in anticipation
of his future tastes, committed the enormity of riding on a stick on
Sunday; so she locked him up till he had learnt six verses of one of
Watts's hymns about going to church being like a little heaven
below, isn't it?"

"Increasing his longing that way," said Lady Tyrrell.

"She doesn't even light the