person, and Henrietta knew that if she could have Mrs. Batty to
herself she would be able to talk more freely than she had done since
her arrival in Radstowe. There would be no criticism from her, but
unlimited good nature, a readiness to listen and to confide and a love
for the details of operations and illnesses in which she had a kinship
with Mrs. Banks. Indeed, though Mrs. Batty was fat where Mrs. Banks
was thin, cheerful where she was gloomy, and in possession of a
flourishing husband where Mrs. Banks irritably mourned the loss of a
suicide, they had characteristics in common and the chief of these was
the way in which they took to Henrietta.

'You must come to tea on Sunday,' Mrs. Batty said. 'We are always at
home on Sunday afternoons after four o'clock. I have two big boys,'
she sighed, 'and all their friends are welcome then.' She lowered her
voice. 'We don't allow tennis--the neighbours, you know, and James has
clients looking out of every window--but there's no harm, as the boys
say, in knocking the billiard balls about. I must say the click
carries a good way, so I tell the parlourmaid to shut the windows. And
music--my boy Charles,' she sighed again, 'is mad on music. I like a
tune myself, but he never plays any. You'll hear for yourself if you
come on Sunday. Now you will come, won't you, Miss Henrietta?'

'Yes, she'll come,' Caroline said. 'Do her good to meet young people.
We're getting old in this house, Mrs. Batty,' and she guffawed in
anticipation of the usual denial, but for once Mrs. Batty failed. Her
thoughts were at home, at Prospect House, that commodious family
mansion situate in its own grounds, and in one of the most favourable
positions in Upper Radstowe. So the advertisement had read before Mr.
Batty bought the property, and it was all true.