It was then that Sir Giles, who cursed this obligatory hospitality for
weeks beforehand, emerged with a smile as fixed as his scowl, shook hands
with the select few whom he deigned to number among his acquaintances and
pointedly ignored the many who did not enjoy this privilege.

With old Dimsdale the butler rather than with his master rested the
honours of the house, and old Dimsdale did his part nobly; so nobly that
Major Shirley was heard to remark more than once that it was a pity he
and Sir Giles couldn't change places. It was the great day of Dimsdale's
year, and his was the proud task to see that none of the guests were
neglected.

Anne usually rode to hounds on this occasion. Tall and stately, clad in
the conventional black riding-habit that only added grace to her severity
of outline, she moved among her husband's guests. And even those of them
who, like Major Shirley, resented that queenliness which was an inborn
part of her very nature, were fain to admit that she filled her position
as lady of the Manor with striking success. Though she had withdrawn
herself more and more of late from the society of the neighbourhood, she
acted the part of hostess with unfailing graciousness. On foot she moved
among the throng, greeting everyone she knew.

Little Dot Waring, standing in the background with her brother on a
certain misty morning in January marked her progress with looks of loving
admiration. Lady Carfax's mount, a powerful grey with nervous ears and
gleaming eyes, was being held in unwilling subjection close to them.

"Be ready to mount her when she comes this way, Ralph," Dot whispered, as
the tall figure drew nearer.