young woman, and she readily confessed that fluent manners and the air
of the _cavaliere servente_ were things she did not love. Carelessness
suited well with a frayed jacket and the companionship of a hill burn
and two ragged boys. So, comforting her pride with proverbs, she
returned to Glenavelin to find the place deserted save for dogs, and in
their cheering presence read idly till dinner.



CHAPTER IV

AFTERNOON IN A GARDEN


The gardens of Glenavelin have an air of antiquity beyond the dwelling,
for there the modish fashions of another century have been followed with
enthusiasm. There are clipped yews and long arched avenues, bowers and
summer-houses of rustic make, and a terraced lawn fringed with a
Georgian parapet. A former lord had kept peacocks innumerable, and
something of the tradition still survived. Set in the heart of hilly
moorlands, it was like a cameo gem in a tartan plaid, a piece of old
Vauxhall or Ranelagh in an upland vale. Of an afternoon sleep reigned
supreme. The shapely immobile trees, the grey and crumbling stone, the
lone green walks vanishing into a bosky darkness were instinct with the
quiet of ages. It needed but Lady Prue with her flounces and furbelows
and Sir Pertinax with his cane and buckled shoon to re-create the
ancient world before good Queen Anne had gone to her rest.

In one of the shadiest corners of a great lawn Lady Manorwater sat
making tea. Bertha, with a broad hat shading her eyes, dozed over a